


god knows

by SmittyJaws



Series: you're my best friend [9]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, F/M, Fluff, ace!Deaky, ace!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmittyJaws/pseuds/SmittyJaws
Summary: A collection of short oneshots I've written/have been requested to write for the ace!Deaky universe.  Unless stated, each chapter is a standalone work.  Tags will be updated as applicable.Chapter 13: The Magic tour has been hard on John, and he needs respite. He gets it in the form of a favourite song.





	1. Precious

**Author's Note:**

> Series notes: As always, I want to thank: @glamrockmonarch for her kickass headcanons, and @brian-may-likes-dust for putting up with all of my updates and spitballing ideas/shitposts xD you’re stellar, and I love you both 💜💜💜
> 
> Very slight AU, mostly in that this story assumes asexuality is more visible/discussed in the 70s (still stigmatized much like any deviation from “standard” heterosexual relationships though), but otherwise not much else is different aside from my lapses in memory regarding other historical information. Fic title is taken from the lyrics to I Want To Break Free.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @glamrockmonarch on Tumblr, who wanted something about the story behind Deaky and that sunhat he wears in a couple of concert photos. You all know the one I mean. XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH FLUFF FAM. ENJOY :D

“I still don’t see why I have to wear this,” John grumbles as he eyes his reflection in the mirror distastefully. “Couldn’t you have picked something less strange?”

“Oh come on, Deaky. You lost the bet; you knew going in that you’d have to wear something ridiculous for this concert. At least I didn’t pick one of Freddie’s more outlandish things. Or let Freddie make the choice, for that matter. You look absolutely precious.” You giggle as you adjust the hat on John’s head, pushing random strands of hair out of his face from where Freddie has messed it up.

“True. You could have picked one of the feather boas. Or something worse,” John concedes with a small shudder while he simultaneously goes red at the compliment, though he still doesn’t look too pleased at the prospect of having to wear the hat. “And you wouldn’t possibly be so cruel as to let Freddie have that kind of free rein, would you?” Your only response is a smirk, and John’s eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”

You let John squirm a little before dropping the act. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you. God knows what he’d have chosen. Maybe one of the leotards.”

John cringes visibly at that thought. “Oh God. He would.”

You can’t help but snicker a bit at the thought of John being forced to play a concert dressed in one of Freddie’s wildly-patterned affairs, only stopping when John elbows you lightly in the side. “What? It’s funny.”

John just sighs and goes back to moping at his reflection. “I still can’t believe you won.”

You shrug. “Not my fault I know how forgetful Rog can be. I’ve borrowed clothes from him before, and he never remembers when he’s loaned them to me. Out of sight, out of mind. So it was an easy step up to just… keep taking his shirts and hide them.” You snicker again unapologetically. “He wouldn’t have even noticed if Freddie hadn’t gone looking to borrow something and noticed his closet was half empty.”

John just looks at you with one eyebrow raised disapprovingly and you raise your hands in defence. “Don’t give me that look, Deaky. It’s not like I wasn’t going to give them back after; God knows I don’t want to keep most of them. Besides, it’s just a hat, for one concert. How bad can it possibly be?”

It turns out that the answer is ‘absolutely embarrassing’ when someone takes out a camera and manages to snap some photos of John playing. You swear you had nothing to do with it (John had made you promise not to take any photos of him), but you still manage to find the gentleman responsible later on and ask him for copies when he gets them developed, “for posterity, Deaky! I want to remember this forever, as it’s a good look for you!”

John just glares half-heartedly at you while you’re eagerly exchanging phone numbers with the man for contact purposes, but immediately softens when you tell him again how sweet you thought he looked and kiss him on the cheek. He draws the line at you calling him precious anymore, though, and insists that term of endearment is only for small children, puppies, and kittens. That, of course, just makes you call him that all the more, giggling at his blush when you whisper it into his ear (no sense in giving the others more fodder for teasing).

“What’ll you do if I don’t stop calling you that?” you ask him with a smirk when the others leave you both alone at the table while they go for more drinks or to chat up other people in the bar. “Withhold sex? Oh no. What a tragedy. I’m so deprived.” You laugh at your own joke, and John just rolls his eyes.

He gets you back later on though, creeping up behind you one day when you least expect it to drop the hat on your head while you’re talking with Freddie, and leaning in right next to your ear to say _“my Precioussssss”_ in his best approximation of Gollum’s voice, making you shriek in surprise and almost jump out of your seat at the unexpected sound. You’re so startled that you almost don’t hear the telltale sound of a shutter clicking. You turn away from where John’s head is leaning on your shoulder to see Roger lowering a camera and snickering at you both.

You pout at the two of them laughing at you while you try and get your racing heart back under control, but you can’t stay upset for long and soon you’re laughing just as hard and you concede that you did have that coming.

Years later, you still have both the hat photos in frames beside each other, and neither you nor John can look at them without whispering _“my Precioussssss”_ at each other and giggling uncontrollably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	2. No One But You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @vaanderlust on Tumblr. Prompt: "I know you're scared."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY this is so much angstier than the last story. Strap in, fam!

“I can’t do this.”

You look up from your examination of the concert setlist on the sofa in the sitting room to see John shaking his head, clearly upset. He’s fidgeting incessantly and keeps biting his lip, and when you try to take his hand in yours to help calm him down, he just stands up abruptly and starts pacing the floor.

You watch John pace in silence for a few minutes, trying to let him work off his tension. You’re not all that surprised that John is reacting this way; you’re honestly just surprised this didn’t happen sooner. “John, please talk to me?”

He stops pacing and just stands in the middle of the room, running his hands through his hair. The silver at his temples that you normally tease John about and tell him that it makes him look distinguished, today just appears more like a dull grey and makes him look old beyond his years. “I can’t do this.” He turns to you where you’re still sitting on the sofa, watching him patiently and waiting for him to be ready to talk to you. “It doesn’t feel right; to be doing this without him.” His eyes are bright with unshed tears, and you know he’s doing his best to hold himself together. “It’s not Queen if he’s not there, and Bri and Rog don’t seem to care!”

You open your mouth to speak, but the floodgates have opened now and John won’t (or can’t) stop rambling as he starts pacing the floor again. “They keep saying ‘this is what he’d want; he’d want us to play without him. He wouldn’t want us to give this up.’ How can they possibly know? If you have Queen on stage without him, it’s not Queen. Not really. Not without Freddie.”

Saying his name out loud seems to be what tears it for him, and he suddenly stops his pacing to collapse to his knees, pent up tears finally falling from his eyes. “I just... can’t. Not without him. Queen’s a family, but it’s not a full family if everyone’s not there.”

You cross the room to kneel down beside John, holding him close and rubbing his back as he cries. You’re close to tears yourself from the situation, but nowhere near as emotionally wrecked as John is at the moment. “I know. Things aren’t good right now, but this concert’s for a good cause, and I guarantee he would want that. _‘Good thoughts, good words, good deeds’_ , remember what he told us?” John gives no indication that he’s heard you, tears still falling as you pull him as close as you can. “If you don’t feel right playing without him after this show, then that’s alright. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

You feel a small nod from where John’s head is leaned against your shoulder, before he speaks up, voice small and hesitant. “It just feels like... no matter what I do, I’ll let somebody down. Play without Freddie, and I’m letting him down. Stop playing and let Brian and Roger down.” He lifts his head and tries to meet your eyes. “And either way, you’re caught in the middle and I’m worried I’ll let you down.”

“I know.” Your voice cracks slightly from your own emotion, but you don’t let go of John. “Believe me, I’d give anything to have him up there with you.”

Both of you just sit there for a while, an emotional mess in the middle of your sitting room floor, attempting to draw strength from each other. It doesn’t seem to help all that much though, as neither of you is in much of a mood to do anything for the remainder of the day. John fiddles half-heartedly with the toaster he’s been meaning to fix for a while, and you throw yourself into taking care of the laundry, both of you desperate for a distraction. When you eventually go to bed, there’s a lot of tossing and turning from both you and John, neither of you able to lie close to the other without being disrupted by the overstimulation of too much physical contact.

You eventually fall into a fitful sleep, hands intertwined, but you both still wake up with dark shadows under your eyes. John looks particularly haunted, and you’re sure you don’t look much better. You’ll be happy when this concert is over later today, knowing how heavily it’s weighing on both of you. 

——

Waiting backstage for the concert to start, you can see that John is working himself up again. Brian and Roger don’t seem to notice, but there’s also a lot going on right now and John’s tendency to internalize his distress means that it’s not always the most obvious unless you know what to look for. But you know his tells, and he’s clearly stressed and anxious about this concert, even as he goes through the motions of getting ready as though everything is normal. 

You take his hand from where he’s fiddling with a tuning peg on his bass, despite him having completely tuned it already, and hold it in yours. “Hey. It’s going to be alright.” You have to swallow past the lump that forms in your throat at that statement, but try to put on a brave face for John. “I know you’re scared; I know you’re upset. But it’ll be over soon, and you never have to play again without Freddie if you don’t want to.” Your voice shakes a bit on the last word, but you just squeeze his hand a bit tighter, trying to reassure him.

John gives you a weak attempt at a smile, but is soon called away to prepare to go onstage and any other opportunity you might have had to talk is gone. You take your place along with Brian and Roger’s wives, waiting to watch the show. You hope you have enough tissues in your purse; you’re sure they’ll be needed. 

Sure enough, as the show goes on, you find yourself unapologetically bawling as they play classic Queen songs, joined by other musical heroes of yours. John was right; it’s not the same, not at all. You can tell the other wives are tearing up too, but it’s not the same for them. They haven’t been around since the early days of the band (through no fault of their own, but still), so they don’t fully understand how much this feels like the end of an era. You know this will truly be John’s farewell, and you only hope that you won’t lose touch with Brian and Roger in the future. 

Just then, a stage tech comes up behind you and taps you on the shoulder hesitantly. “Mrs. Deacon?”

“Y-yes?” God, you must look awful. You quickly try to compose yourself to not startle the young man (he can’t be any older than 20! When did Wembley start hiring children?). 

For his part, the tech looks just as uncomfortable seeing you in your grief as you feel having him see you like this. “Phone call for you; it’s apparently quite urgent.” He gestures for you to follow him and you can’t help but wonder if this is just another nail in the coffin. 

When you pick up the phone, however, it’s the exact opposite of what you expected to hear, and you’re stunned as you hang up after the end of the call. You immediately rush to find the same tech and ask if it’s possible to relay a message to Queen. You can hear them starting to play taped vocals from Bohemian Rhapsody on stage so you know the window is short, but you need them to know. 

Seeing the urgency on your face, the tech promises to do his best, and disappears back into the background as you go back to your spot in the wings to watch. You hear the next two songs play and there’s no indication that anyone has been told; John still looks like he’s just going through the motions, and even Brian and Roger look somewhat lacklustre in their performance. The band plays through We Will Rock You with Axl Rose, and the crowd is deafening as they chant along.

You have tears coming to your eyes again, and almost miss Brian speak up after the song finishes: “Normally we’d go right into this next song, but we’ve just gotten some incredible news, and figured it would be fitting to tell you all before we play. We’ve just found out from the hospital that Freddie has woken up from his coma, and given time, is expected to make a full recovery from the car accident he suffered last November. We really appreciate all the support you’ve given during this time.” Brian sounds like he’s getting choked up, but covers well by cueing the band to start We Are the Champions.

As expected, the crowd goes wild at that news and you’re fairly certain you can see tears on several of the performers’ faces as they all join in singing the final song. You’re surprisingly holding it together, but the minute John walks offstage, you run right into his arms and both of you are crying again in sheer relief as you hold each other tightly. You know it’ll be a while before Freddie recovers and he’ll likely have to deal with side effects, but at least he’s still alive. You have no idea what this means for Queen in the future, but for now, you’ll just take it one step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	3. You Make Me Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @vaanderlust on Tumblr. Prompts: “I think I forgot how to breathe” and “Um…somebody broke that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PURE UNADULTERATED FLUFF, YO. ENJOY :DDDDDDD

“So, uh... what did you think?” John’s looking at you expectantly from where he’s sitting at the electric piano.

You hadn’t known he was interested in learning piano, let alone bringing home an electric one from the studio recently to fiddle around on (apparently Freddie can’t stand to play the thing, and John had jumped on the chance to give it a home and learn something new). But here he is, with it set up in the spare room in the flat that’s been dedicated to his music things and general storage, looking slightly embarrassed for having been caught out. 

You’d been let off work early for the day at the museum, and John hadn’t anticipated you being home for another few hours. As such, you’d entered the flat to hear music coming from the music room and had to take a pause before opening the door to the room and announcing your presence.

You can hear John playing something unfamiliar on the piano and muttering lyrics along with it. He stops and starts a few times before you hear him play through what sounds like a whole chorus (or verse, you can’t be sure), and actually sings along quietly. The lyrics are talking about how someone is his best friend, and you think it’s the most beautiful sentiment you’ve ever heard. 

You hate to interrupt him, especially after hearing him sing a line about how “his feelings were true” and declaring his love, and you feel as though you’re hearing something you aren’t meant to yet, like peeking at a Christmas present. However, your attempts to sneak away quietly are thwarted by you bumping into the bookshelf and knocking a decorative plate your mother had given you years ago to the floor. Any hope of escaping unnoticed disappears when the plate shatters with a loud crash. “Shit.”

The playing stops, and you hear John’s voice call out and ask who’s there. You open the door and poke your head around the doorframe to let him know it’s you.

“Oh, thank God. I thought we might have been having a break in. Not that there’s much to steal.” John jokes, sitting down at the piano again. Then he realizes that you must have heard him playing and his face goes red. “So how much did you hear?”

“Not a lot,” you answer honestly stepping into the room, away from the broken glass. You’re not in a huge rush to get it tidied just yet, as Bean is sleeping in a chair beside the piano so you know she’s not at risk. “But I heard enough.”

John goes redder. “I was afraid of that. I didn’t want you to hear it just yet; it’s not quite finished.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you apologize. “I don’t want to interfere. I can go for a walk and come back if you want to work on it some more without me hearing.”

“It’s alright,” John waves a hand. “I can work on it another time.”

“You sure? It’s a nice day out anyway, so I don’t mind.”

“Completely sure. Seeing as you’re here, would you tell me what you thought of it? The part you heard anyway?” John smiles, but looks a little bashful.

You think back on the music and the lyrics you remember. “I think it’s lovely. Sounded like a love song, from what I heard?” 

John goes red again and smiles shyly. “That it is. I’m glad you like it so far; I think you’ll love it when it’s finished.”

“I’m sure I will, if what I heard is any indication. Honestly, when I heard some of those lyrics I think I forgot how to breathe.” You smile at him. “What’s it called?”

“Ah, see, that would spoil the surprise.” John grins as he gathers his lyric sheets from the piano to tidy them up before walking over to press a kiss to your temple. “You’ll find out when the album’s released.”

“Damn,” you complain jokingly as you both prepare to leave the room. “I don’t want to wait.” You can’t resist a bit of a joke, though: “should I be prepared to hear more sexual innuendo? Or are we done subtly teasing the public about our non-existent sex life?” Both of you snicker at the mention of Misfire, and how no one still gets how truly funny that song is; not even the other band members. 

“No, nothing like that in this song,” John agrees. “This one is different. But you’ll find that out when it’s done. No more fishing for clues.” He smirks as he gestures for you to leave first before he follows you out the door. As you leave, you remember that the glass is still all over the floor outside and you haven’t yet cleaned it up. John stops short when he sees it, eyes wide. “Is that the plate your mother gave you?”

“Yes. It appears that someone broke it,” you answer sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “That someone may or may not have been me.”

“Was that when you were listening in on my songwriting? Is my singing that much of a shock to the system?” John teases, enjoying the flustered look on your face.

“Um. Maybe?” Now it’s your turn to go red. “I’m just... let me go get the broom.” John chuckles as you practically bolt off to go get something to sweep up the mess. 

He doesn’t let you live down your embarrassment at that incident for a while, but hearing the band perform John’s song (that he apparently wrote for you again!) for you a few weeks later at a rehearsal makes it all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	4. Put Out the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @winterknightdragon on Tumblr. Prompts: "You don't have to act like you're okay", "It's okay to cry", and "When you fall, I'll always be right there to catch you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WKD requested angst, and BOY DID I DELIVER. This one also got a little bit away from me. Whoops! Very reader-lite this chapter too, so that's a little different. :D
> 
> Enjoy 4K words of Hot Space era angst for our ace boi!

“I just think the musical arrangement would be better if you tried it my way.” Brian folds his arms across his chest, looking down at John where he stands. 

“I already told you, I don’t _want_ to do it your way. It’s my song, and it’s fine the way it is.” John replies evenly, not backing down. 

“Deaky, keep an open mind, would you? I’m just making a suggestion.”

“Yes, and I’ve had it up to here with your suggestions. Nothing I write is ever good enough for you; you always feel the need to make a million different suggestions, corrections, and additions, and by the end of it all, it sounds more like your song than mine!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic, Deaks?” Roger pipes up from where he’s sitting off to the side, unwilling to get between the two men as they argue. “We’ve all made suggestions and edits about each other’s songs before; what’s so difficult about it now?”

John turns to glare at Roger. “What’s difficult is that he always gets his way! If I want my song left alone from his tampering, then it should be left alone! I don’t see why I’m always the one that has to give in.” He turns back to Brian. “I haven’t complained about all your depressing songs about death, or about your 6 minute power ballad about cheating on your girlfriend _yet again_. I want you to leave my song the way it is.”

“Oh come off it! That was a good song!” Brian argues, shoulders tensing.

“A song airing out your dirty laundry for all to see? Genius. And then you wondered why the press wouldn’t leave you alone about it for weeks afterward,” John returns sarcastically, folding his own arms across his chest.

“Don’t come at me like you’re on some sort of moral pedestal,” Brian seethes, advancing on the bassist. “Just because you haven’t written a song yet about the fact that you drink like a fish, doesn’t make you better than me.”

“What I do is my business. You made your affair everyone’s business the moment you turned it into a song.”

“And you being drunk during concerts isn’t our business? It affects the band when you do things like that and you know it. At least my vice didn’t affect any of our performances,” Brian returns smugly. 

“Are we still discussing John’s song, or...” Roger speaks up from the corner where he and Freddie are both watching the argument play out.

The two men turn to face him and speak in unison. “Shut up, Rog.”

Turning back to Brian, John gives the older man a look of disappointment. “I can’t believe you honestly think that little of your affair and the impact it had. I know my drinking isn’t the best, but at least I’m not philandering my way around the continent while we tour.”

“Oh my God.” Brian shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re really doing this? You really think you’re so much better? Two words, John - stress relief. I needed an outlet, she was there. It happened. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, though.”

“No, I understand perfectly,” John growls back. “You made a commitment to someone, and when it wasn’t convenient you broke it. Then you had the gall to write a song about it to paint yourself as the injured party. Not all that hard to grasp.”

“At least it helped! That kind of thing is what keeps you sane on tour or while recording!” Brian roars, finally at the end of his rope. “Maybe if you had a good shag for once in your life, you wouldn’t be such a bitch about your stupid fucking song.”

The entire room goes silent at that declaration. Roger and Freddie’s mouths are wide open, unable to believe that Brian finally snapped. John is white as a sheet, fists clenching by his sides. 

“Brian, darling, that was uncalled for,” Freddie speaks up gently from his seat, breaking the tense silence.

“Is it, though?” Brian rounds on Freddie now. “He thinks he’s better than me because he’s never done that, but he has NO IDEA what that’s like. He doesn’t get to sit up on a moral high horse.”

“Shut up,” John mutters, fists clenching more tightly.

“It’s not my fault that he’s being so inflexible about this whole thing. He’s not some innocent angel; he’s a grown man who needs to understand that this is how the world works. These things happen. This is normal, and he’s behaving like a spoilt child over it.” Brian continues.

“Shut. Up.” John mutters more loudly.

“If he’d just listened to what I had to say about his song in the first place, we wouldn’t be here right now.” Brian looks over at John, arms folded in satisfaction.

“Brian...” Freddie starts, but he’s cut off by John.

“Shut up, Brian.” John’s voice is level, but very clearly angry as he gathers up his things. “I’m not going to stay here and let you bully me into taking your song suggestions, especially after insulting me like that. I’m going back to the house; do what you like with your bloody songs in the meantime.” He storms out, and no one stops him. 

——

“... and that’s when I left the studio,” John finishes, voice tight as he finishes his story. “I wasn’t going to sit there and let him insult me - or you, indirectly. God, I wish you were here right now, love.” He sighs. “I could really use the company.”

“I know,” you reply, trying to balance the phone between your shoulder while you do the dishes. “I wish I was there too. The house is too empty without you, and Bean cries all the time while she searches the house for you.”

You hear John laugh a little at that. “I miss her too. It won’t be much longer, I hope. If this keeps up, it might be sooner than anticipated.” You hear him finish up in a mutter, but choose not to comment on it, trying your best not to insert yourself into band arguments.

There’s a moment of silence, and for a moment you think the call’s been dropped. “John, you there?” 

“I’m here.” There’s a slight catch to his breathing, and you can only imagine how he’s feeling right now, forced to deal with this on his own. “I just... I can’t believe he would say something like that. This is why I didn’t want to tell them all those years ago.”

“He’d have made the comment anyway, wouldn’t he? If it’s an observation on your sex life?” 

“Yes, but an attack made from ignorance is one thing. He did that on purpose because he knows.” You hear another hitch to his breathing, and you can tell just how upset John is. “He _knows_ how much something like that would hurt, and he wouldn’t have said it if deep down he didn’t think it was true.”

Inwardly you’re cursing Brian; this is just like dealing with your parents all over again, only this time, John’s taking the brunt of the attack. You hear a small sniffle from the other end of the call, and wish desperately that you could be there with him. “I know. I don’t think he thinks it’s true, but I do think he knows just where to hit where it hurts. You do too; both of you seem to know instinctively how to needle each other to the point of aggravation. Always have.”

“This is different, though!” John exclaims, and you’re sure he’s trying to stifle tears at this point. “He just never lets up; never lets me have a moment to do what I’d like for the music without jumping in to have his way. I’m not the same person I was 10 years ago when I joined the group, but he doesn’t see that. I’d just like a chance to work on things the way I’d like to for once, and what does he do? He insults me for something I have no control over.”

“I know.” 

“Implying that my songwriting could be fixed with ‘a good shag’, implying that I have no idea how the world works because I don’t want sex, least of all with a stranger, implying that this makes me naive because even if I did want it, I made a promise when I got married and don’t intend to break it, and implying that I’m somehow less or stupid because of the way I am.”

“I know.”

“And now look at me. Just sitting in our rental house alone and pathetic, wanting a drink, of all things. I know I have a problem, but it at least takes the edge off. Lets me not care for a while so I can act like everything is normal.”

“Please don’t drink,” you plead. “Alcohol isn’t the answer here; you don’t - and shouldn’t - have to to push things aside and act like you’re okay. What Brian said was incredibly out of line, and it’s okay to feel upset, to feel angry, to cry. I’m not getting involved with the stuff about the music; that’s something you two will have to work out like adults. But an attack like that on your sexuality isn’t alright and you shouldn’t feel as though you need to be numb to it.”

“I know it’s not the answer. God, I know. We’ve been fighting so much lately; nothing is getting done for the album.” You hear an aborted half-sob over the line. “Why does it have to be so difficult? Why can’t he just let me have this one thing when he’s had so many? Rog isn’t a fan of the music style either, but at least he’s dealing with it a lot better than Bri is.”

“Unstoppable force, meet immovable object,” you chuckle mirthlessly as you watch the dishwater go swirling down the drain. “You and Bri have always clashed musically; this is nothing new.”

“Then why does it have to hurt so much more now?” John’s voice is sad. “We’ve argued before, but we’ve always kept the disagreements purely to the music. He’s never gone so far as to actually attack me. And never for this before. Fuck, I’m pathetic. This shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.”

“You’re not pathetic, and it’s not wrong to be upset,” you reassure John. “Brian deliberately chose to say something that he knew would make you react like this. You’re also probably more bothered because this is the first time you’ve had a dig from someone that close to you about being ace. Your family was supportive of you; you haven’t had to go through that before. Not that I think my experiences with my parents would make me handle that any better, but you know what I mean.”

John sighs. “Probably. I just... wish he hadn’t said something like that. It’s not that I think I’m better or anything for not cheating; it’s just that I don’t understand how he can be so caring and understanding one moment, then throw it all away like it means nothing. I dunno. Maybe I am biased because I don’t feel that ‘urge’ (you can practically hear the air quotes), but I just don’t understand him sometimes.”

“I know. I honestly don’t think most of us know what’s going on in his head sometimes. But I don’t think that I’m the person you need to have this conversation with, love,” you remind him gently. “Maybe not now, but you need to talk it out with Brian yourself; I know it’s not very English for two men to discuss their feelings and emotions, but it needs to happen if you’re going to move on and make things work again.”

“I know you’re right, but can I at least grumble a little more first?” John jokes weakly, sounding slightly less upset than earlier. “I need a bit more time before I’m ready to talk with him yet.”

“Of course,” you agree. “Just don’t leave it for too long.”

——

By the next day, John’s resigned himself to having to confront Brian. He doesn’t like to think of it as a confrontation, but he knows that it likely will end up being one; even if they both said things they shouldn’t have, John still refuses to have Brian touch his song, and Brian will still complain about John’s creative process. He’s also not looking forward to talking about how badly Brian’s comment had hurt; even though Brian might be more open about his emotions, John prefers to keep his closer and not discuss them out in the open if possible. 

With a sigh, he pushes open the door to the recording studio and prepares for another day of what is likely only going to be arguing and no actual tracks. As usual, he’s the first one in so he goes about setting things up and chats with Mack for a bit while he waits for the others. Soon, Roger breezes in, followed by a scowling Brian who looks as though he’s been literally dragged out of bed (and knowing Brian’s dislike of early mornings, he most likely _was_ ). Wonderful. This is already promising to be a good day. 

Brian settles down a bit once he’s actually had some coffee, but now he just looks surly instead of homicidal. John is still not looking forward to this, but maybe he should do it now? It’s not like they can do much before Freddie arrives anyway. He approaches the sofa Brian’s sitting on. “Bri? Can we talk?”

Brian lets out a noncommittal _hmph_ and doesn’t look up from the song sheets he’s reading. John pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache he can already sense is coming and tries again. “Brian?”

“I heard you the first time.” Brian grunts, finally looking up. “Finally decided I’m good enough to look at your song?” 

In the background, John can hear Roger muttering “Jesus _Christ_ ” at Brian’s utter lack of tact, but he ignores that in favour of trying to mentally remind himself that killing Brian in the studio would be highly frowned-upon. “No; I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh. Well, go on then.” Brian finally looks up, and the utter look of apathy and disdain on his face are not helping John want to mend the bridges here. He’s making an effort, damnit! 

“Can I talk to you in private?”

“No.” Brian’s folding his arms and hunkering down on the sofa, clearly not wanting to acquiesce to any request of John’s. “You can say it here.”

John glances over at his shoulder briefly to see Mack and Roger studiously pretending to be busy with other things, and figures this is as good as it’s going to get. His fist clenches slightly at his side as he prepares to bare himself. “...I didn’t appreciate the comment you made yesterday.”

“You didn’t seem to appreciate a lot of things,” Brian sneers. “Least of all my efforts to try and help.”

There’s another heavy sigh coming from Roger’s general direction, and John continues: “I meant about me. What you said about me needing ‘a good shag’. I didn’t appreciate that.”

Brian’s face is impassive. “I didn’t appreciate you implying you’re better than me because you haven’t slept around. You have no idea what it feels like.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” John agrees, and he sees Brian’s eyebrows raise. “I don’t know what that feels like, and I don’t know that I _want_ to know. But I didn’t mean to imply that I thought I was better for it, and I’m sorry you felt that I did.”

“Hm.” Brian’s eyebrows have skyrocketed up at the clearly unexpected apology, but says nothing else while he waits for John to speak.

“But, I didn’t like that _you_ implied that I have a problem and just need to have sex to get over it,” John continues. “That’s not how it works, and I thought you knew better than that.”

“How do you know, though?” Brian asks defensively. “Maybe you just need to try it. You and your wi-“ John can hear Roger suck in a sharp breath while he swiftly leans in closer to Brian. “Finish that sentence, and you can find a new bassist,” he gets out through gritted teeth. “This is about you and I, not her; you leave her out of this.”

“Fine,” Brian raises his hands in defeat. “But what then about you? How would you know?”

John opens his mouth, but there’s a new voice speaking up: “Easy to tell, darling.” Everyone’s heads turn as Freddie enters the room from where he’s been leaned on the doorframe. “As usual, you’ve started the fun without me!”

“What do you mean, it’s easy to tell?” Brian interjects before Freddie can go on with any more theatrics. John’s got his eyebrows knitted together too, trying to figure out what the singer means.

“Simple.” He turns to Brian. “Have you slept with any men lately?”

Brian splutters at the non sequitur, John and Roger are gaping at this point, and Mack just looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. “Answer the question, darling. You look like a fish, opening and closing your mouth like that,” Freddie continues. 

“Are you joking? Of course not!” Brian answers, incredulous. “I’m not gay!”

“And our dear Deaky isn’t heterosexual; what else is new?” Freddie responds blithely, not breaking eye contact with the guitarist for a moment. “I think you should consider it, though.”

“You can’t be serious! Why would I do that?” Brian sounds incredibly flustered now and his face has gone very red.

Freddie just leans in closer and speaks in a stage whisper. “Because maybe if you try it, you’ll just get over it.” He leans back again, crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly, having made his point. “Isn’t that right, Deaky?”

For his part, John’s just stunned at how succinctly Freddie’s managed to sum it up, and can barely manage a nod when Freddie asks for his response. He can almost see the lightbulb illuminate over Brian’s head as the guitarist finally seems to understand. Freddie continues: “Now do you get it, Bri? If that’s not a mountain you can scale, then it certainly isn’t for Deaky either, and it’s not fair to attack him for something he can’t control.”

“Alright, fine,” Brian concedes. “I see what you mean. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t being a total prick about the other things.”

“What, about It’s Late being your shocking exposé song?” Freddie remarks dryly. “John may not have addressed it with the most tact, but he also isn’t wrong. If you didn’t want people to talk about it, you shouldn’t have written a song to put on the album. But what’s done is done; not like we can go back and erase that.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Anyway, you two bitchy queens can continue talking; I for one, am in need of some air,” Freddie declares, gesturing at Roger and Mack. “Care to join me, gentlemen?” 

Both Roger and Mack need no further invitation, practically running over each other in their haste to escape the tension in the room. Freddie follows after them, shouting back a cheerful “try not to kill each other, dears! It wouldn’t be good for the band’s image!” as he leaves Brian and John alone to finish their discussion. 

There’s a moment of silence afterwards and John pulls up a chair to have a seat, both men just staring at each other and not wanting to be the first to speak. It’s awkward, and John finds himself wondering just when it was that silences between him and Brian got so tense. Brian eventually speaks up, apparently not too comfortable with the silence either. “So.”

“So,” John responds, not sure where Brian is going.

“So. When did things get this bad, John?” Brian sighs. “We’ve disagreed on things for songs in the past, but you’ve never been this outright hostile about letting me see or voice an opinion on your music for a new song before.”

“I don’t know,” John answers honestly. “Guess this has been a pretty stressful time for all of us.”

“That’s an understatement.” Brian quirks an eyebrow. 

John thinks that if this keeps up, they’ll be waffling on around the topic all morning. Well, no way to do this but to jump into the deep end. “I know you might think you mean well by looking over my songs so much, but things have changed, Bri. I’m not the same kid I was 10 years ago when I joined the band, struggling to write my own music and happy to go along with what everyone else wanted.” Brian frowns, but lets John continue. “I’d like to be able to write and record something without you making changes to everything I do because you think it needs fixing.”

“You know I don’t mean it as an offence, right?” Brian says. “I know you’re a capable songwriter, if a little too peppy for my musical tastes.” He laughs slightly at that, and John does too, knowing how vastly different their song styles are. 

There’s another moment of silence before Brian speaks up again. “I suppose I’m just worried, is all. You all know I nitpick at all the songs; I worry that they’ll be alright for the albums. I’m worried about this album, and how this different style of music will go over with the fans. ...I worry about what this means for me in the band.” Brian finishes his statement in a mutter, and won’t meet John’s eyes.

“What are you talking about? You’re one of the original members. Nobody’s kicking you out.” John furrows his eyebrows.

“When was the last time you heard guitar make a meaningful contribution to disco music, Deaky?” Brian looks up, and just looks pained now. “It’s not even that I don’t like the music - I’ll admit it’s not my cup of tea, but that’s not what bothers me. I’m worried that if this is the direction the band is taking, what place is there for me? No place for guitar in the music, you don’t want my help with lyrics or songwriting... I feel like I’m being cast aside and there’s nothing I can do but sit by and watch it happen.”

John is silent for a moment, then speaks up in a low voice. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

“Yes, well. It hasn’t been good for a while, if I’m being honest. It was enough of an ordeal just trying to be heard some days, or to make an effort to do anything.”

John winces. “Jesus, Bri. You know we’ve told you to talk to one of us if things are getting that bad.”

“When? Couldn’t very well bring it up; not when you and Fred have been so excited about this album. No need to drag you down with my ridiculous moods and paranoia.” Brian looks at his hands. “I figured I wouldn’t go out without a fight, but anything I’ve tried to contribute besides lyrics has been ignored. I just wanted something I did to be valued.”

“Oh God.” John’s got his head in his hands now before he looks over at the guitarist. “Honestly Bri, I felt the same for some of our earlier albums. Either I don’t get involved, or if I do, my opinion’s ignored or changed to suit the group. It’s been nice having more control for once, but I didn’t want it to come at the expense of you feeling like you didn’t matter.”

“What a pair we make,” Brian observes, looking back up with a rueful expression. “We probably should have talked about this ages ago; maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad.”

“Who knows. We probably should have talked about it as a band, really. But when have band meetings ever gone well?” John huffs our a short laugh. “We’d have more than likely all murdered each other before we had any kind of meaningful conversation.”

“That, or gotten horribly sidetracked with one thing or another. God knows I love Rog and Freddie, but those two are more excitable than most.” The two men laugh before Brian speaks up again, much more friendly and sincere than John’s heard in a while. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry about the comment about your sexuality. I still don’t fully understand it, and I won’t ever pretend that I do, but you have my full support. You both do. Family needs to stick together and all.” Brian smiles faintly. 

“I’m sorry about dragging up your affair. I won’t pretend I condone it,” John warns, “but I can’t really judge about that either. We’ve all made mistakes, we all have problems. What’s important is that we catch each other when we fall. Life’s too short to spend it infighting the way we’ve been.”

“Cheers to that.” Brian smiles again, more warmly this time.

There’s a pause again, but it’s a much more comfortable one than the way things have been lately. “Should we call the others back?” John wonders, not wanting to waste studio time, but also enjoying the feeling of not being on edge for the first time in months.

“Probably.” Brian doesn’t sound like he’s in a hurry to get to work either.

John shakes his head. “Sod it. They can come back on their own,” the bassist decides, even as he reaches for his notepad and bundle of song lyrics. “I’m not an errand boy.” After a moment’s hesitation, he speaks up again. “Bri?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you... mind terribly taking a look at my song lyrics? I’d like a second opinion, and haven’t had a chance to talk to Fred or Rog about it.”

“Of course; you know I’m always willing to if you’d like. I promise I won’t make any changes either, unless you ask,” Brian teases.

John laughs, and holds out the song sheets hesitantly. “Just... keep in mind that I was rather angry when I wrote it. Don’t read too much into it now?”

“Alright?” Brian looks wary now, even as he accepts the sheets from John. “What’s this song of yours called, then?”

John has a small amused smile on his face. “Back Chat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	5. Another One Bites the Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @inthelapoftheqwhiteqwen on Tumblr. Prompt: "Calm down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John REALLY doesn't like spiders and snakes. :[ 
> 
> Warning for appearances of above-mentioned critters, if that's something that bothers you.

John’s not a fan of insects and other various creepy crawlers; never has been. He doesn’t think he has a phobia, but he definitely prefers if they keep to their own space and leave him alone. So with that in mind, he’s not entirely sure what possessed him to voluntarily come with you to visit your friend Mich to see her latest acquisition to her animal family. 

“Her name is Raphael!” Mich beams, indicating the small tarantula crawling around in a clear box. Well, clear except for the top, which has been taped up beyond belief. Mich notices John staring at the tape and clarifies: “Raphael likes to climb, and doesn’t ever seem to realize that the box has a top and that she can’t keep climbing. She’s a bit dumb, that one. I taped it up so she’d hopefully stop falling down.” Mich rolls her eyes a bit at the spider’s antics, and John’s just happy that Raphael is on the other side of the glass. Of course, that doesn’t last for long: “would you like to hold her? Or Michelangelo and Leonardo?”

“Um. I don’t think-“ John starts, but is cut off by your enthusiastic response.

“Yes, please!” You’re grinning; you’ve met Michelangelo and Leonardo a few times already, but they’ve never wanted to come out of hiding when you’ve visited. If they’re in a good mood today, this could be a lot of fun. “Is Michelangelo too busy constructing mountains to come out for a visit, though?” you joke. 

“When isn’t she?” Mich laughs. “I wish I knew why she does that, but ah well.”

Despite his aversion to the spiders, you can see John grinning at that one. Apparently Michelangelo’s way of passing the time is to make mountains of dirt in her box, then once created in one corner, slowly shift it piece by piece to another corner, and so on and so forth. He’s joked that Michelangelo must be the reincarnation of Frank Lloyd Wright, and that Mich is lucky to be in the presence of a great architect. That said, he’d also said he’d rather leave the spider to her mountain building behind the glass at a safe distance. 

No such luck in avoiding spider contact, though; Mich has opened up Raphael’s box already and she turns to John. “Put your hand out; see if she wants to crawl onto it!” John’s hesitant at first, not big on the idea of a spider on his hand, but one look at the pleading expression on your face has him sighing internally and vowing to have a drink later on as compensation. John puts his hand out reluctantly, giving you a look that says he’d clearly rather not. It turns out that it’s all for naught, though; Raphael is most certainly not interested in John’s hand, to which he breathes a sigh of relief.

“No matter!” Mich smiles as she closes the box back up. “We’ll see how Leonardo and Michelangelo feel about coming out.” 

And there, John’s not so lucky anymore; Leonardo is more than interested and wastes no time crawling into John’s hand and up his arm. The bassist is cringing, but trying not to make any sudden moves. He’s definitely having more than one drink later on, no matter how safe you and Mich reassure him this is. He holds out for a good two minutes before he unsubtly leans toward you and lets Leonardo crawl off his arm onto yours. You’re giggling a bit at John’s obvious discomfort, but make a note to apologize later on and make it up to him somehow. 

——

Besides the spiders, John’s also not a fan of snakes; a fact you’d found out when you were looking after Crawly while her owner was on holiday.

The rest of the band has come to pay a visit as well, wanting to get a look at the boa for themselves. Freddie and Brian had gotten a look in, then went back to amusing themselves by playing with Millie and Lou, who have also stopped by through your opened windows. Roger is currently holding Crawly, letting the boa wrap herself around his arm while he watches her head move around as she looks at everything going on. 

You’re sitting with Roger on the sofa, making sure that the blond is holding Crawly correctly, and John is trying his best to fade into the background and creep away to the bedroom. “Where are you headed off to, Deaky?” Freddie calls out, grinning and holding up Millie where she’s cradled in his arms, yawning. “You’re going to miss out on all this fun!”

“That was rather the point, Fred,” John mutters as he reluctantly returns to the room now that everyone is watching him. He still remains close to the door though, in case he needs to make a speedy getaway.

“You mean you don’t want to spend time with us?” Roger gasps in mock outrage and pretends to wipe away a tear with his free hand. “I’m offended.”

John rolls his eyes. “Not everything is about you, Rog. If you must know, it’s the snake.”

“What’s wrong with Crawly?” You pipe up from your seat. “She wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Be that as it may, I’d rather not spend more time close to her than necessary.” John shakes his head, eyeing the boa suspiciously as she flicks her tongue out in his general direction.

Roger gasps and pretends to cover where he imagines Crawly’s ears to be. “Don’t let her hear you say that, Deaky! You’ll offend her!”

John’s rolling his eyes again at the blond’s dramatics, and you swear if he rolls them any harder that they’ll fall out of his head and roll down the street. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She hardly seems bothered.”

“Still! It’s the principle of the matter!” Roger stands and approaches John, still with Crawly in his arms. “You should apologize.”

“I’m not apologizing to a snake, Rog. Don’t be ridiculous.” John’s trying to back away again bit by bit, and Roger is having none of it - he holds Crawly out in front of him, bringing the boa closer to the bassist’s face. 

“Look at her, Deaky! She’s heartbroken! Be a gentleman and apologize!”

“Fuck off.” John’s trying to push Roger away, while simultaneously trying to not make contact with Crawly.

“Calm down, mate.” Roger’s not letting up. “What’s wrong with Crawly anyway? It’s not gonna kill you to make contact with her.”

You can see how frustrated John is getting by Roger’s insistence, so you intervene. “Rog. Leave him alone,” you warn, not backing down until the drummer moves back to the sofa. You turn back to John. “Please stay?” You ask quietly. “I know you’re not a fan of Crawly, but I don’t want to see you shut yourself off from everyone. Play with the cats or something.”

“Fine,” John concedes. “But I’m not holding Crawly, no matter what Rog asks. The spider was bad enough that one time.” He shudders slightly at the memory and eyes the boa where she’s curled up against Roger’s chest.

“That’s fair,” you agree. “And anyway, Crawly will need to go back into her cage soon. So she won’t be out much longer.” You pitch your voice up higher so Roger can hear you, and you look over to see the blond pouting exaggeratedly. You turn back to John and take his hand in yours gently. “I know you’re not a fan of having her here, so thank you for putting up with it for the week,” you murmur. “Soon she’ll be back home, and I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

John’s face softens when he sees how truly regretful you are for these circumstances, and he pulls you close to give you a kiss on the top of your head. “I appreciate that, but it’s alright. You were just helping a friend out. As long as I don’t need to hold her, I’ll be alright,” he teases.

“I wish you’d reconsider, but I won’t force it,” you reply, glancing over at Roger muttering nonsense words at the boa, who is looking everywhere but at the blond. “You’d probably be more alright to hold Crawly than the spiders; she’s usually content to just lie around and take a look at the room around her. Plus, she’s soft and smooth. Not fuzzy and crawly. Or slimy, even.”

John looks thoughtful at that but still refuses to hold her, and soon enough it’s time to put her back and for the band to leave for rehearsal. You cuddle up with the cats to read a book, and try not to think of the fact that you’ll be moving out in a few weeks and won’t get to have these moments anymore. You also wonder why John has such an aversion to snakes and spiders, but won’t push him to talk about it, reasoning that he’ll tell you if he feels comfortable. 

You also decide to not reveal what you see when you’re home early from work the next day. You catch a glimpse of John through the window, and when you look closer, you see him sitting on the sofa reading from one of his engineering textbooks... with Crawly curled up around his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	6. You and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @brian-may-likes-dust on Tumblr. Prompt: “a fluffy date night with our favourite couple :D"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: “5 times you and John went out on a date, and 1 time you stayed in”.
> 
> In other news, I somehow fell more in love with this adorably sweet couple. T_T

**_ 1\. 1975 _ **

Money has been tight for a while, but you’ve made a point to put aside money here and there, wanting to get a nice surprise for John. He’s going to be home from touring soon, and you want to do something together while you have the chance. You’ve had to take on some extra work here and there to make ends meet, as the record label hasn’t been paying the band a lot, but you know things will work out eventually. As long as bills are paid, and you and Bean have food, you don’t feel bad about passing up opportunities to buy yourself things in order to get this present for John. 

As predicted, he’s absolutely floored when he opens the envelope you give him, revealing two tickets to go see the Queen’s Park Rangers at an upcoming match. Elation turns to apprehension when he realizes what this must have cost, but you’re tight-lipped on the subject and refuse to give him a straight answer, only confirming that finances are still alright and he can enjoy this guilt-free. John’s still a little wary, but he agrees to trust your word for it that everything will be alright. 

The day of the match, John’s like a small child at Christmas. Even though he normally enjoys smaller quieter settings, there’s something about the relative anonymity that a sports crowd gives that lets him be a bit more comfortable. He’s absolutely enthusiastic the whole time, and even though you’re nowhere near as excited to watch football as he is, his bright mood is contagious and you find yourself just as caught up in the match as John.

Later that night, he holds you close in bed and tells you again just how much he enjoyed the day out with you, and that he appreciates that you went to that effort for him. 

**_ 2\. 1980 _ **

In the same way that John loves to go watch his football team play, you’ve always had a passion for visiting museums of all kinds. Your personal favourites (besides natural history) are art museums and military museums, and you’ve got a list of different ones you’ve been to and others that you have yet to see, trying to visit as many as you possibly can during your lifetime. 

At some point, you must have left your list lying around, because one day during a week-long break in recording, John tells you that he’s taking you out. He needs the distraction from the stress of recording, and you’ve been relatively busy lately as well and he knows you need this too. You ask him where he’s taking you, but John just winks and refuses to give you a straight answer, saying that you’ll just have to wait and see. 

When John pulls up the car in front of the new art gallery that’s just been built, you’re absolutely stunned. You hadn’t expected this at all (even though you had been counting down the days til it was opening), and you can only stand there with your jaw dropped for a moment or two. John teases that you’ll catch flies that way, and that it’ll be hard to look at anything inside if you’re just standing there. This snaps you out of it and you launch yourself at him in a big hug, knowing he knows how much this means to you. 

It’s a lovely visit, and you’re fairly certain you catch John enjoying himself more than you thought he would, judging from the way you have to pull him away from certain paintings. You thank him on the way home for such a lovely day out, knowing how much time is scarce for the two of you these days.

**_ 3\. 1984 _ **

“John, hurry up! I swear, you take longer than I do to fix your hair these days,” you call from the sitting room where you’re waiting for your husband to finish fiddling with whatever he’s doing with his hair. 

“I didn’t think it would take this long,” John responds back from the bedroom. “It’s trickier dealing with a perm than I thought it would be.” He enters the room, grimacing slightly. “Add that to my list of things that I’m not sure what I was thinking when I got this.”

“Possibly that you wanted volume to match Bri’s?” you tease, standing up and fiddling with a couple of errant pieces. “Now come on - we’ll be late for the dinner reservations if we don’t leave now.” You catch him sneaking a final glance in the hallway mirror on the way out, and tug on his hand slightly. “Yes, you look beautiful. But you can’t keep fiddling with it, though, or you’ll just end up making a mess of it.”

“Alright,” John concedes. “If you think it looks decent, I’ll leave it be. This’ll definitely make me stand out like a sore thumb, though - this place had better be as good as they promised in terms of discretion,” he mutters as you both get in the car. 

It turns out that the restaurant is just as good as they had promised John, and you have a lovely quiet dinner together, enjoying the time to yourselves and playing pretend that he’s not famous for once. You’re blessedly uninterrupted... that is, til the end. “Excuse me?” It’s one of the busboys, and he looks terribly nervous. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

You hear John give a long suffering sigh beside you, and elbow him in his side before he starts grumbling. The boy can’t be much older than 17 or 18, and doesn’t deserve John making some snippy remark. “Possibly?” you reply, glancing slightly over at John. “You’ve probably heard his music.”

The boy shakes his head, though. “No, ma’am. I meant you.” You’re stunned for a moment, but the busboy continues, eyes lighting up in recognition. “You did that guest lecture at my school a few weeks ago on the Byzantine empire! I thought it was fantastic, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before you left.”

Oh. Well, this is a shock! You can sense John’s mixed surprise and amusement at not being the one who’s recognized for once, and he just sits back and lets you talk a bit to the boy, who is also absolutely fascinated with History. You end up giving him your business card for the museum, and tell him if he has any questions, he can contact you there.

On the way back home, John has a good laugh at his anonymity for the evening, and jokes that perhaps you’ve been the real celebrity in the household all along.

**_ 4\. 1987 _ **

As always, both of you keep relatively busy, but you still plan nights out as regularly as you can, trying to keep some sense of normalcy to your lives (as much as is possible, anyway. Normalcy took rather a backseat the moment Queen started going places). Tonight’s event of choice is going out to see a movie. John had let you make the choice this time, so he’s a little surprised when you choose The Princess Bride.

He raises his eyebrows and says he didn’t think you were interested in films like that, but you just tell him to give it a chance. You’ve read the book, so you know what’s coming, but John’s completely in the dark.

You decide to go out to some regular theatre, and dressed more casually, no one suspects a thing. John’s never looked very ‘rock star’ when he dresses down for everyday living, and he’s taking full advantage of it. He also likes the idea of sitting in a darkened theatre, where no one can spot him and he can do as he likes. You want to make a joke about the fact that the idea of fooling around in the theatre doesn’t cross either of your minds, but decide to leave it and just enjoy the film.

John ends up enjoying it much more than he anticipated, and laughs along with the rest of the audience at the jokes. The most memorable part for you, though, is when he reaches over to hold your hand and give it a bit of a squeeze when Westley says “death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.” For that matter, any time Westley and Buttercup are professing their love for each other, you can feel him lean in closer to you, wanting to be nearer and enjoying this time with you, and you can’t help the rush of affection that sweeps through you at those small gestures.

**_ 5\. 1992 _ **

You and John don’t go out as often anymore; not since Freddie’s accident and subsequent health scare as he recovers from his injuries. The band hasn’t been working on anything since releasing Innuendo, so John’s happy to just putter around the house in the meantime, work in the garden occasionally (he’s not very good, but it’s the thought that counts), or sit with Bean and read and enjoy non-band life. Normally you don’t mind this either, but lately you’ve been going rather stir-crazy and just want to have a change of scenery.

You ask John to (finally) leave his tinkering with the broken toaster, and to come outside with you for a bit; someplace that isn’t just the back yard. John jokes about whether this means you’re asking him out on a date, to which you tell him that yes, it’s a date if he wants it to be. John has a look of mock surprise on his face, saying he’s not sure about your taste in men then if you want to go out with some old man who’s over 40. You roll your eyes and remind him that you’ve just hit 40 too as he pulls on a jumper to ward off the cool breeze, eyes crinkling as they do when he’s particularly amused. 

You don’t end up going very far; just a short walk around a nearby park. It’s fairly empty, given the season and the light drizzle coming down, so you and John enjoy your walk together, wandering through the trees hand in hand. John admits that he needed that break to get out of the house and stop worrying about Freddie’s recovery, and thanks you for looking out for him. You remind him that you both look after each other, and John tells you that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**_ +1. 2019 _ **

“Love, if you don’t hurry up, I’m starting without you,” you call from the sitting room, fiddling with your television remote.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” John huffs, making his way down the stairs slowly. “You can’t rush me. I can’t move as quickly as I used to.”

“Oh really? Because I’m fairly sure I saw a certain gentleman in his late 60s practically taking flight with the speed he was trying to leave that awards show recently.” You replied, your arms over your chest.

John’s face flushes slightly at that, but he also doesn’t deny it as he makes his way into the sitting room, which you’ve darkened by closing all the blinds and leaving only one small lamp on. “So what are we watching tonight? I know it was your turn to pick something this week.” He lowers himself gingerly onto the sofa, letting out a groan as his knees audibly creak at the movement. “Damn things.”

You wince in sympathy; after all, you’re going through the exact same issues some days. “It’s something new,” you tell John as you pour yourselves both a glass of wine and hand his to him. “I know you’d rather not go out to theatres these days, so I waited until it was on DVD so we could watch it together.”

John just raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his wine. “Well, now you have me intrigued.” He puts his arm around you as you move in to sit closer together, and you hit play on the remote.

The screen is dark for a moment, then the familiar sound of the 20th Century Fox fanfare begins... on an electric guitar. John’s face is incredulous, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and you grin back at him, thinking of the DVD case you’d made sure to tuck away out of sight to prevent John from finding out about your plan ahead of time. 

John’s involvement with the film has been extremely limited, preferring to let the others field that. He’d visited the set once, to meet the actors, including the vaguely star-struck and enthusiastic young man playing him and the actress playing you for a brief few scenes that feature wives and girlfriends. John had thought they all seemed lovely, but enjoys his time in the relative peace and quiet away from celebrity life. As such, he has no idea what this finished film will look like, and neither do you as you refused to see it without him.

As the opening piano chords of Somebody to Love start to play and an announcer calls for the start of Live Aid, you glance over and you can see a tear rolling down John’s face as he holds you tighter. For a moment, you don’t see the 67 year old man you’ve been married to for 45 years; for a moment you’re looking back at a long-haired young man stammering and shuffling his feet as he asks you out on your first date instead. And even when that image fades back to reality and you focus back on the movie playing on the tv, you know that no matter how many years pass, or how many dates you go on, one thing that’s never changed is how much you love one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	7. Pants Spide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Roger gets his own spider… and keeps it in his pants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the title isn’t a typo. :P Sort of a sequel to Another One Bites the Dust (chapter 5), but you don’t really need to read that story to understand what’s going on here. Kind of a crackfic, but the entire story centres around mentions of spiders, if that’s something that bothers you. Reader barely shows up in this one; it’s much more John-centric.

John wasn’t entirely sure how he’d let Roger talk him into this. Oh wait, that’s right - he _hadn’t_. Roger had unilaterally made the decision, and John was dragged along for the ride.

Roger had heard about John’s visit to see (and subsequently hold) Leonardo, and had proceeded to pout for 3 days over not having been invited to hold the spider himself. He complained to everyone who would listen that it should have been him that went instead of John: “the man has no appreciation for wildlife! Why should he have gotten that opportunity instead of me?” “…because he’s my boyfriend, not you, and we were the ones invited over? Besides, it’s not like you can’t see others at the pet store.”

In the middle of restringing his bass at the time, John hadn’t paid much attention to the conversation and assumed Roger would drop it eventually. As such, he missed the look of Roger’s eyes lighting up at the prospect and had only muttered an absent-minded “Yes” when Roger had asked him a question. He regretted that now, because it turned out that the question was “will you go with me to the pet store?” and this was really not how John had envisioned spending his first Saturday off in weeks.

Still, it didn’t seem so bad, all things considered. No one was forcing John to hold anything (Roger was happy enough to hold anything John was offered), and for the most part, it was really just like supervising a taller child in a candy store. As long as Roger didn’t buy anything, they’d be alright.

…John spoke too soon. Or he should have knocked on wood or something to prevent this. On their way home, Roger decided that he needed a tarantula for himself, and immediately begged to borrow some money to buy one + supplies. Thus began John’s waking nightmare and unexpected foray into parenting his older bandmate.

“Where are you going to keep it, Rog?”

“I’ll make space on the desk!”

“…the same desk that Bri uses to work on?”

“Yeah! He doesn’t need all that room. He can move some of his textbooks.”

“I really don’t see that ending well, but alright. When will you find time to take care of it?”

“I’ll make time! Deaky, you worry too much!” Roger had grinned and gleefully taken John’s reluctant offer of money, and proceeded to drag the poor bassist back to the pet store a week after their initial visit.

He picked out something called a _brachypelma smithi_ , or Mexican Red Knee. John honestly couldn’t tell the difference between any of the spiders, but apparently Roger could, and he insisted it was obvious. He went into a long-winded explanation, but John just tuned it out and filtered them into two categories: Spiders We Aren’t Buying, and Spiders We Are.

He did pay attention when Roger was looking at cages, though, not wanting to take any chances of it escaping. Soon enough, laden with more things than John would have wanted to invest in, they headed back to Roger’s flat. Roger spent the entire drive back trying to come up with names for the spider, and John was subtly leaning as far away from the drummer as possible.

Roger went through a good several dozen different name options before he had a sudden epiphany: “none of this would have been possible without your help, Deaky! I’m naming it after you!”

“You’re going to name your spider Deaky?” John was suitably less than impressed.

“No - it doesn’t look like a Deaky. Its name is John!” Roger was grinning in the bassist’s direction, clearly pleased with this choice.

John resisted the urge to make a scathing remark and ask how the spider could possibly _look_ like any particular name, and hoped the drummer would change his mind.

No such luck - Roger decided that he needed a way to differentiate between the two of them, and apparently calling the tarantula Spider John was out of the question. “His name is Little John!”

John visibly cringed at that. “…are you sure that’s the name you want to go with? _Really_ sure?”

“Yeah! Why not?” Roger didn’t look up from where he was examining the spider in its box.

“…you know what that sounds like, don’t you?” John could feel a headache coming on, and wondered if this was what being a parent felt like.

Roger thought for a moment. “Oh. Yeah, I suppose that might be a bit odd. Ah well - it’s only awkward if people make it awkward. The spider’s little; you’re not, and I stand by my decision.”

If John hadn’t been driving, he might have bashed his head against the steering wheel in frustration. This was not a good start to the saga of Roger Taylor: Tarantula Owner.

——

As it turned out, Roger was better at caring for the tarantula than John had anticipated (he refused to call it Little John, for obvious reasons). It never got loose when he visited and the drummer never forced him to hold it, which John appreciated. He might have been forced to share a name with it, but at least Roger wasn’t pushing his luck too far.

A few months later, they were preparing to go on tour, and apparently, the concept that he’d have to leave his pet behind hadn’t occurred to the drummer (likely because this had never been a cause for concern before). Naturally, he refused to leave it behind in someone else’s care, and insisted that he needed to bring it.

“Where will you keep a spider on tour, Rog?” John’s headache was back again, to no one’s surprise. “We move around a lot.”

“He’ll stay on the tour bus!”

“And when we stay at hotels? A bus is one thing, but I doubt they’ll be so forgiving.”

There was a moment of silence while the drummer considered this. Clearly, he hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“Exactly.” John’s voice was placating, reasonable. “Just leave it with someone. Hell, leave it at our place and my better half will look after him for you,” John joked. “She’ll probably get a kick out of it.”

“…I suppose.” Roger still sounded unhappy, though, but seemed rather resigned to this fate. John breathed a sigh of relief when his back was turned. That was a close one; he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he had to be stuck in close quarters with the spider for weeks and months on end. Freddie was fascinated by it, Brian was indifferent, but John really didn’t want to be living with it, so he was glad Roger was seeing sense and leaving the tarantula at home.

…which is why John was in for the shock of his life when he discovered that Roger had stashed the spider and its supplies aboard the tour bus when they left a few days later. “I thought we agreed you were leaving the spider?” He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

Roger was grinning widely as he watched the spider creep around in its cage, which was never a good sign. “Nah, I’ve got a system worked out, Deaky! Everything’s gonna be fine!”

——

Everything was, in fact, not fine. It turned out that Roger’s so-called ‘system’ involved him hiding the spider in his trousers to sneak it past the hotel staff. Why Roger didn’t just put the cage into a suitcase, John would never understand.

John wasn’t entirely sure how Roger managed to not crush the spider in his pants, given how tight they were, but decided he’d really rather not think about Roger’s pants, or spiders, or spiders in pants. He shuddered slightly at the thought. At least it wasn’t in John’s pants, so that was a small comfort. John resolved to try and ignore the drummer’s antics and just carry on the way he always had. And it worked, to a certain extent, until one day…

“DEAKY!”

John was awoken from a short nap on the dressing room sofa before a concert by a frantic cry from Roger. Concerned, John quickly dragged himself up to full wakefulness. “What is it, Rog? What’s wrong?”

“There’s a problem… down _there_!” Roger was gesturing towards his crotch, and John suddenly noticed that the drummer was only in his skivvies. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue; they’d all seen each other in various states of undress before and after shows before, but somehow this was so much more uncomfortable. “Can you take a look at it?”

“What? No! Absolutely not.” John pointedly averted his eyes away from Roger’s waistline, now significantly less concerned. “What makes you think I’d know what the problem is anyway?”

“… I dunno. Just wanted a second opinion.” The drummer shrugged before trying again. “ _Please_ , Deaky?”

“No.” John wasn’t budging. “Why am I supposed to look at something you probably caught from your latest paramour?”

“But that’s the thing! I haven’t been with anyone!” Roger whispered, eyes wide, and John just raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Then what…oh.” John closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead in disbelief as the realization hit. “It’s because of that damned tarantula, isn’t it?”

“Uh. Quite possibly?” Roger looked sheepish now. “They have a tendency to shed their hairs, and those can be an irritant.”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_. This is exactly why you should have left it at home,” John groaned, wishing he could go back to his nap and never wake up again. “Or at least, not put it down your trousers like some pervert.”

“I had to, Deaky!” Roger whined. “There’s no way I’d have gotten him up to my hotel room otherwise. You know how the staff are.”

“Yes, and with good reason - because _some people_ like to circumvent the rules and sneak in pets that aren’t allowed!” John threw his hands up in frustration. “Just… don’t go putting it in your trousers anymore. I’m sure you’ll be fine then.”

“But Little John likes it in my trousers! It’s warm and dark in there.”

“ _Are you even listening to yourself and what you sound like?_ I told you to not say things like that!” John hissed.

“What’s all this about John in Rog’s trousers, darlings?” Freddie walked in, wiggling his eyebrows at the conversation and Roger’s state of undress.

“Jesus.” John had his head in his hands now, desperately wishing he could be anywhere else but here. “This is exactly what I was talking about, Rog.” Turning to Freddie slightly, he replied, “it’s about that damn tarantula. _Not_ me.”

“Ah.” Seeing as it wasn’t about any kind of exciting gossip, Freddie quickly lost interest in the conversation after that and went about his pre-show routine. Meanwhile, Roger was still trying to convince John to look at his problem.

“For the last time, no! I have no idea what I’m meant to tell you if I look at it, and quite frankly, I don’t want to think about looking at it! Deal with your own rash.” John stomped off to find another place in the room to nap in the meantime, and Roger just shrugged and pulled on his pair of concert pants, wincing slightly. _The price you pay for caring for your loved ones,_ he grimaced.

Across the room, Freddie sighed. “If you really need someone to look at your… unfortunate predicament, I suppose I can.”

“You will? Thanks!” Roger perked up, trotting over to where Freddie was fixing his makeup in front of a mirror. “Here!” He shucked his pants again and pulled his underwear away to give the singer a look.

Tilting his head slightly, Freddie peered at what he was being shown. “Hmmm. I see. Impressive.”

“Yes? And?” Roger asked, rolling his eyes. “What of the rash?”

Freddie looked up, deadpan. “Yes, dear, I can confirm that it’s a rash. Nothing really you can do about it but let it go away on its own.” He went back to fixing his makeup.

“Oh, alright.” Roger nodded, struggling with his trousers again.

“See? I told you there wasn’t anything to do! Why does no one ever believe me?” John called from where he was hunkered down on the sofa again, one arm flung over his eyes to block out the light.

“Right! Thanks, Deaky!” Roger grinned, doing up his zip. “I owe you one.”

“One what???? I didn’t do anything!” John cried, lifting his arm off.

“On the contrary - you’ve done everything!” The drummer waggled a finger at John’s put-upon expression. “Any time I have to scratch the itch during the concert, know that I’ll be thinking of you and all your help!”

John just stared at him. “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“That’s what friends are for, Deaky!” Roger bounded off to get onstage to adjust his drums, while John just sat up with his head in his hands again, counting the days til he could go home and leave all this madness behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	8. Fight From the Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 1991. John’s not sleeping well at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a request this time!  Just something I dredged up from the recesses of my mind and pulled together into a story. Enjoy! :D
> 
> Warning for use of the word ‘queer’ as a slur.

It’s happened again. This is the fourth time this week that John’s woken up in a cold sweat, shaking and unable to differentiate reality from illusion for a few terrifying minutes. He lies in bed, shivering, and briefly glances over at the digital display of the clock on his bedside table. 3:17, it reads mockingly. John knows he won’t be able to fall asleep again for a while, not without tossing and turning every which way and disturbing his wife’s sleep (and he’s a bit surprised that he hasn’t already), so he carefully slips out of the bed, puts on a jumper to ward off the nighttime chill, and quietly goes downstairs.

Once downstairs, he finds himself searching for something to do; to try and keep his mind busy and hopefully tire himself out enough that he can catch another few hours of sleep. He tries reading, but his eyes can’t focus on the words on the page and everything jumbles together to create a blur (and will definitely give him a headache if he continues). He tries sitting and holding Bean, listening to her contented purrs as she curls up on his lap and falls asleep within seconds, but he finds that he can’t sit still for too long and ends up having to apologetically deposit the cat on a sofa cushion instead as he paces (which she is not impressed by). He tries pacing the floor, he tries having a drink of water, he even tries tinkering on the malfunctioning toaster for a little while... nothing is helping, and the clock reading 4:23 is sitting there reminding him of this fact.

At one point, he glances briefly over at the closed door of his music room. Playing has always been a stress release for him, but right now, it’s only making him more tense. He can feel the familiar itch to play something new, to create, or even just play something he’s done a million times before, but there’s a voice in the back of his head accusing him. Berating him for trying to carry on as though things were normal; as though everything hadn’t changed forever last month. It’s only been 3 weeks, but John knows that it’s affected him more than he cares to admit out loud.

He knows he’s not the only one affected by this, of course, but sometimes it feels as though no one else is affected as badly. Brian and Roger are seemingly carrying on as normal, saying that this is what Freddie would want, and yet, even if it is, something about it just doesn’t sit right with John. It’s not the same without Freddie there, and he’s said so. Some days it’s difficult to even drag himself out of bed and get anything done for himself at home, let alone try to put on his united front band face and work with the others.

At some point, he finds that he’s migrated to the sofa again, and somehow during his bout of staring at the ceiling in exhaustion and frustration, he finds himself drifting off to sleep.

——

_It starts the way it always does: he’s 16, and tells his friends that he’s not interested in girls the same way they are. They’re laughing and jeering, mocking him for not being ‘normal’ like they are. “Always knew you were bloody queer!” Nigel shouts, shoving him away. The slur stings, and John wonders why he thought telling them in the first place was a good idea._

_The scene fades and moves on: he’s 17 and telling his parents that he’s not what they expected him to be. “This is probably just a phase!” His mother shakes her head, smiling ruefully. “Don’t be so silly, John. You’ll get over it.”_

_“All the same, we should probably have you looked at by a doctor,” his father agrees. “No sense in leaving a problem unfixed.” They both nod in agreement, and there’s a pit growing in the middle of John’s chest._

_He sees Julie talking with one of her friends, gossiping about him: “Yeah, my brother’s a bit odd. I wish he’d just be normal like the rest of us.”_

_He’s in London, telling his flat mates that he’s uncomfortable with how loud they are when they bring girls back to the flat, and they just scoff. “What’s your problem then, mate? It happens. This is normal. What’s not normal is the fact that you never bring anyone around, though.” They glare suspiciously. “You some kind of homosexual? Don’t want any of those in our flat.”_

_John stammers out an explanation about how he’s actually ace, which just makes them scoff all the more. “God, you’re strange. You’ll never find anyone that wants someone like you.”_

_The scene jumps forward a couple of years, and he’s coming out to the band alongside his fiancée. “...they don’t like that we’re asexual.” Roger and Brian just stare at him pityingly, and Freddie’s look is unreadable._

_He quickly leaves the room before anyone can say anything else hurtful (the looks were bad enough), but Freddie soon follows after him. On his way out the door, John can hear Roger and Brian consoling his girlfriend about how she’s been stuck with someone with such a deficiency._

_At first, Freddie seems understanding, which is a small comfort to John, given all the hurtful comments and reactions he’s had thus far. Of course it turns out that John’s spoken too soon, because as soon as he brings up his struggles and how hard it’s been, Freddie holds up a hand to stop him. “What do you mean, it’s been hard? You can’t possibly understand the struggles that gay people and others like them face.”_

_“But I-“ Freddie cuts him off again._

_“You pass for a straight couple! You can get married, walk down the streets holding hands, kiss, and so on! You’re a lot more privileged than you think, Deaky.” The nickname sounds like an epithet in that tone of voice, and John unconsciously finds himself hunching his shoulders, shrinking in on himself in defence. He tries to speak, but Freddie won’t let him get a word edgewise._

_“Honestly, if all your ‘problem’ is is that you don’t have an interest in sex, you’re essentially heterosexual. You just want to feel special by giving yourself a title; want to claim being a victim.”_

_“...I thought you of all people would understand.” John’s voice is small, hesitant. He’s never felt this self-conscious about his sexuality before, but now it feels like every insecurity he’s ever had about being the way he is is being laid out in front of him._

_“What’s that supposed to mean?” There’s a mocking laugh. “You and I are nothing alike, Deaky. Stop trying to play the victim and pretend to be something you’re not. I don’t know what we ever saw in you.”_

_John doesn’t know when he collapsed to his knees, but he’s curled up in a ball on the ground while everyone who’s ever cared about him and supported him is surrounding him and laughing. He’s pleading for them to stop, asking why, but there’s no answers and the laughter only grows more cruel at his clear distress._

——

John awakes roughly, thrashing around and managing to fall off the sofa, disrupting the cat (who has apparently once again made his lap her sleeping place) with an unhappy yowl. He’s vaguely aware that he’s crying, there are tears on his face, and all he can think of are the cruel memories his mind has conjured up of a man he’ll likely never speak to again in this lifetime.

It’s not even the hurtful words themselves that are upsetting him; it’s the fact that they came from someone he considered the closest thing to a brother. It takes him a moment to realize that there are arms wrapped tightly around him, and soft nonsense words being murmured in his ear while a hand rubs his back gently. He leans into the comfort, not awake enough to bother trying to staunch the flow of tears, and sits there on the floor of the sitting room lost in his emotions for the next little while.

Eventually, he tries to pull himself back together, and looks over to see his wife watching him with concern in her eyes. “You okay?” she asks. They both know it’s a token question and that the underlying answer is no, but John nods slightly. He’s less of a distraught mess right now, at least.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he croaks, wincing at how rough his voice sounds.

“It’s alright.” She shrugs. She’s clearly tired, but that’s to be expected. “You know I’d rather you tell me when you’re not doing well than have you suffer in silence. I know these have been going on for a while.”

“...what if things aren’t ever alright again?” John mumbles, looking at his hands. “What if there isn’t any recovery for us this time, and this is all there is left?”

She stares at him for a moment, then points out: “you realize how much you sound like Bri when you say things like that, don’t you? It’s eerie.” They both have a small laugh at that, and John knows she means no harm by her joke.

She continues: “Even if this is all there is left, you know I’ll still be here with you. That’s never going to change.”

“It’s just...” he stumbles a bit, trying to find the words. “The last thing I said to him wasn’t good. We were arguing. I can’t remember why exactly, but both of us were unhappy and arguing with each other, and we couldn’t come to an agreement. We didn’t see each other for a few days after, and I’d been meaning to talk to him the next time we were in the studio together... and then the accident happened. The last time we spoke, we were both angry. I actually shouted at him... and going to the hospital to apologize there now feels like saying goodbye.” John chokes down another sob, trying to keep from breaking down again.

“And that’s what’s giving you nightmares?”

“Possibly? It’s the only reason I can think of.” John leans more heavily into her touch as she still holds him close, trying to offer what reassurance she can.

“Would it help to talk about them?” she asks gently. She doesn’t want to pry, but they both know that keeping it bottled up will only do more harm in the long term.

John nods, knowing he won’t be able to sleep anytime soon, so he might as well. They move to the sofa first to be a bit more comfortable and once they’re lying together, his head on her chest as she still holds him close, he slowly runs through what goes on in his dreams. He tells her about every hateful and upsetting word that’s thrown at him, the total lack of support from people he’s told (and the people he hasn’t, but who he thought cared about him), and the utter feeling of loneliness as this all wears down on him. He freezes a couple of times when he gets to the part where Freddie utterly rejects him, but his wife is patient and doesn’t push, letting him work through this at his own pace.

When he finishes speaking, there’s a moment of silence at first while she takes it all in. Even after saying it out loud, there’s still a small part of John’s brain that is desperately hoping she won’t reject him too after hearing this. He knows it’s unfounded, knows he has nothing to worry about and this is purely exhaustion and nerves run ragged from stress, but there’s still a brief moment of terror when he wonders if that will come true.

Not a moment later, though, she’s pulling him tighter to her, taking his hand in her free one and pressing kisses to the top of his head. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” She’s murmuring reassurances, reminding him that this isn’t his fault, that she’s not going anywhere.

She manages to coax him back up to bed, even though it’s past 6:00 now. She tells him that they’ll call Brian and Roger so John can just have a day to himself and catch up on some much-needed sleep, and she’ll do the same for her work later to take the day off to be with him. She doesn’t think he should be left alone at this time, and quite frankly, given his mental state, John agrees.

In the meantime, they get in bed, and she somehow knows instinctively that John needs to be held right now, so she moves in close to wrap an arm around him. It’s something that John’s always loved about her and their relationship through the years; their ability to anticipate each other’s needs without needing to verbalize them. Before she holds him, though, she gently tilts his face to meet hers and presses a brief kiss to his lips. John can’t help but smile a bit at that as he settles in to sleep again, feeling loved and more at peace than he has for weeks.

He’s not completely okay (and maybe he won’t ever be again), but he’s at least a sight better than he has been for a while. Before they fall asleep, she reminds him that things might look bleak right now, but they just need to take it one step at a time, and that regardless of what happens she’ll be right there with him.

They fall asleep curled up closely together, and John’s sleep is more restful that night(/morning?) than it has been in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	9. Prolific

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How That Interview might have gone in the ace!’verse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also not a request! I’m not normally one to write kidfics, but creating this AU in the first place had me wondering how our boi would handle That Interview. Seeing as I kind of side-stepped the topic of kids in every single other fic I’ve written for this universe, you can consider this story an AU of the AU (so I don’t have to retcon half of the God Knows stories :P). Loosely based on parts from some more of @glamrockmonarch’s headcanons on Tumblr. I hope you like it! :D

John’s always wanted children. He loves the idea of being a parent, of raising little ones, of caring for and teaching them as they grow. Even after realizing he’s ace, that doesn’t dampen his desire for a family of his own; it’s the only context that he can justify having sex to himself (not that the idea of being intimate with his wife is offputting, but it’s still difficult for him to truly have some kind of sexual desire for it, which is rather needed to make this work). He knows with them both being ace, it’s not something she’s fully comfortable with either; even less so than he is, but after discussion, they agree that they’re in a position now where they could reasonably support a child, so they decide to try.

It doesn’t go well, as you’d imagine. Both parties involved are incredibly nervous and can’t even convincingly fake being seductive, and more than a reasonable amount of alcohol may or may not have been consumed on both parts. Whatever the reason, they’re trying but she ends up having to call it off, freezing up and crying and upset that she can’t do this for them. John just holds her close all that night, murmuring reassurances that it’s alright and that it doesn’t matter, but she’s still moody for the next few days afterward, unable to get over it.

A few months later, when he’s home from tour next, she insists that they try again, and maybe it’ll work this time. John’s more reluctant this time around, not wanting another aftermath like before. They want a family, but no child is worth it if it causes this much emotional distress to either of them (or both in this case), and he says as such, but she still insists and John finally agrees to try once more.

It still doesn’t go well; this time, though, John’s the one who stops it. He’s been on edge about trying this again since it was brought up, and when it comes down to it, that proves to be the downfall. He’s feeding off the agitation he can tell she’s feeling, and he ends up getting too caught up in his own head, ultimately working himself up into a bit of a state of his own anxiety over this. He’s the one being held and reassured to that night, but John knows both of them are struggling right now.

He’s almost given up on the idea of being a father, of the two of them being parents and sharing a family together; maybe it’s not in the cards for him if neither of them can do the deed. He’s worked up, she’s anxious, and both of them are tense right now, unable to truly relax and be happy knowing that this is hanging over their heads. He’s bemoaning this fact to Freddie one night after a few rounds of drinking have brought on a particularly dark fit of melancholy, when Freddie brings up the topic of adoption.

It’s not something John has considered before, but as he thinks about it the next day when he’s significantly more sober, it makes a lot of sense. This could actually work! No need for them to struggle through doing something neither of them truly wants, just for the off chance of it being successful. This could be their chance to actually have the family they’ve been hoping for! He stops by a clinic a few days later on the way home from recording and picks up a pamphlet on adoption, aiming to bring it up and test the waters.

She’s initially still stressed when he brings it up, and John worries that she’s not sold on the idea of children anymore. He rushes to reassure her that while he thinks it’s the best option if they still want to have a family, this needs to be a joint decision, and nothing will go forward without her agreement. However, it turns out that she’s more than willing to look into this, and that most of her worry is for him - will he be alright that any children they adopt won’t be theirs? Not fully?

It’s a question John has asked himself several times over the course of his research; is he alright with not having a biological connection to any children he’ll father this way? He’s determined that yes, he is alright with this, and tells her so, taking her hands in his own: “They _will_ be ours, my love. We’ll raise them right, give them the best we can, love them the same, and teach them all we know! No difference at all from a child that we’d conceive.” He smiles reassuringly at her, hoping that she can feel the sincerity in his words. She starts to cry, and at first John wonders if he’s said something wrong, but it turns out that she’s just so happy that John doesn’t hold it against them that they’re not able to have their own biological children.

They start the process right away, knowing paperwork always takes forever and that John’s frequent absences with the band won’t help, but things go much more smoothly than anticipated, and within the year, they’ve become the proud parents of 4-year-old Emma Jane Deacon. The rest of the band is incredibly supportive, and Roger cracks jokes about how he can’t believe that the sexless couple is somehow still the first to become parents. He gets an elbow to the ribs for that one, and even though he protests this treatment, he’s the most doting uncle ever seen (although Freddie and Brian aren’t far behind him).

John will be the first to admit that his daughter has him wrapped around her little finger, and while he doesn’t want to spoil her, he definitely tries to make up for all the time he has to spend away by helping out as much as he can when he’s at home. He gladly plays make-believe with Emma’s dolls, reads her stories to help her fall asleep, and listens to her chatter on about what she’s been learning in preschool. It’s tiring, and he can only imagine what it’s like when he’s not around; no one to share that burden with, but he knows that there are no regrets from either of the two of them about adopting, and in fact, his wife is the one to bring up looking into a second child about a year after Emma has come into their lives.

John’s ecstatic at the idea, but still makes sure to take the time to consider whether this is something they can handle first; money is easier to come by now, but it’s still a lot of time and energy to invest into something that he won’t be around a lot for. They end up deciding that yes, this is doable, and end up adopting a sweet little 3-year-old boy named Stephen.

They’ve decided to wait for a little while before any more children, as two kids under 5 are a bit of a handful while John’s away, but two years later, the subject comes up again. Emma is 7, Stevie is 5, and perhaps things will be alright if a third child is brought into the mix? A bigger family sounds lovely to John, and they start the process to apply for adopting another child.

It’s been pending for quite some time now; the paperwork seeming to take much longer than before, oddly enough. John ends up having to leave again before the process is complete, called away on tour, and he’s not entirely pleased by this.

John’s never liked being away on tours; not being able to go home at night, see his wife, talk to her, hold her… it always wears him down, and not even the odd (expensive) international phone calls are enough sometimes. Now, though, he really doesn’t like it at all - it’s not just his wife he’s leaving behind, it’s children as well. He knows that she understands; she’s not a fan of his absences either but she understands, but the children much less so. Every single time he leaves breaks his heart slightly, especially after the first time he’d had to go and they’d asked if he would be going away forever. Since then he makes sure to give them lots of hugs and reassurance that yes, he’ll be coming back, he’ll miss them very much while he’s gone, and he’ll call as much as possible.

Sadly, he doesn’t often get to speak to the children on the phone directly, given the nature of sleeping patterns and time zones being what they are, but there’s always messages relayed back and forth. So he knows what they’re up to, they have a basic idea of what he’s up to, and he’s kept in the loop about the status of the current adoption.

——

Today, John is in a particularly good mood; the tour will be finishing soon, and he’s just found out that the adoption is going through! He’d found out on his phone call the night before that 6-month-old Harvey Nathaniel Deacon is the newest member of the family, and John is absolutely ecstatic. It’s enough to let him put up with the fact that he’s somehow been roped into doing an interview (not his favourite thing) on his own ( _definitely_ not his favourite thing). There’s a bit of lingering melancholy to his demeanour, as is the norm when he’s away from his family, but nothing can possibly dampen his good spirits today.

The interviewer seems to pick up on his mood, and asks him how he likes touring in the States, and whether this tour is different from others. John gives him the usual answers about how things are lovely here and about the parts of the country that he enjoys seeing during downtime. He follows up by mentioning that he likes that this is a shorter tour than previous ones: “I really didn’t enjoy being away from home for a long time. So y’know, I’m glad to get back - I’ve got a wife and three children at home waiting.”

“A wife and three children?” The man’s eyebrows raise, impressed.

John nods and grins at the fact that he can actually say he has three children now! It’s not just two anymore! Five years ago, he never would have thought he’d be a father of three; he thought that being ace, he’d be lucky to have one, if any at all, but he wouldn’t trade this for anything and loves his growing family dearly. He’s so caught up in his own internal excitement that he almost misses the interviewer’s next statement:

“So when you’re at home, you must be quite prolific.” The interviewer chuckles a little at his own joke, clearly expecting John to join in.

John can feel his good mood dropping slightly as he shakes his head at that statement. “Not particularly. Just fortunate.”

“Must be some good fortune.” The interviewer leans in, still smirking. “Three children in five years on your tour breaks? And you’re what, only 28? You’ve got to tell us your secret.”

John can’t believe what he’s hearing. Has the conversation really taken this turn? How is it anyone’s business what he does at home? Ace or not, this feels incredibly invasive and he can feel himself getting tenser. “No secret, really,” he grits out. “I’m no more ‘gifted’ than anyone else.”

“Uh huh.” The interviewer clearly doesn’t believe him, and won’t let up, giving him a look of pity: “Then have you considered that they might not be yours?”

The insinuation of infidelity has John seeing red, and he’s had it by this point. “If you must know, they’re adopted, but it’s none of your business what I do at home,” he growls.

“Hey, relax!” The interviewer puts his hands up in mock surrender. “It was only a joke.” Then he gives John another meaningful look. “But you admit then, that they’re not yours?”

That’s it. This has gone far enough. “Some joke,” John seethes, standing up. “My sex life isn’t something to poke fun at, not when this is supposed to be about the band and the tour. My personal life has no bearing on this and there was no cause for making those kinds of comments. This interview is over.” He walks past the interviewer, who appears to be in a bit of a state of shock at John’s unexpected tirade. Before he continues on out of the room, he leans in close and speaks in a low tone: “and for what it’s worth, they _are_ my children; every single one of them, and I don’t appreciate you implying that they’re not simply because we’re not related by blood.”

The room is left in silence as John leaves, most in a state of shock that the normally quiet and reserved bassist is capable of getting so angry (although no one can blame him), no one willing to say anything or try to stop him.

——

John ends up walking all the way back to his hotel room, trying to blow off some steam. He has no doubt that he’ll be hearing about this later on from the others, but he’s in no mood to talk to anyone about anything right now. Thankfully there’s nothing going on for the rest of the day for once so he can have a drink to numb the anger he’s still feeling at the audacity of that interviewer.

One drink turns to several, and by the end of it all, John’s no longer angry so much as he is just frustrated with everything. He wants to go home, he wants to have his wife and children near, he wants to be able to see and hold his new son, and he wants everyone to stop trying to pry into his life and pass it off as a joke. The last one infuriates him more than anything, as he hates having to shrug off those comments and jokes most of the time as though they’re to be expected and that _he’s_ the one with the problem for disliking them.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear the knock on the door. At first, John almost thinks he’s imagined it, but then it happens again, a bit more insistent, and there’s a voice on the other side. “Deaky, let me in! I know you’re in there, so don’t bother trying to pretend you aren’t.”

John sighs and figures he might as well get this over with; he knows they won’t go away until he acquiesces in some way. He gets up from his spot at the table and crosses the room to open the door. “Hello, Rog.”

Roger’s grinning at his victory at getting John to open up, but then he sees the look on John’s face and sobers immediately. “God, you look like shit.”

“We can’t all be as pretty as you.” John flips him a two-fingered salute as he makes his way back to the table and the drink he’s currently nursing. “What do you want?”

“Heard you stormed off on your interview this afternoon, mate. Management’s raving mad of course, but I know you wouldn’t have done it without good reason.” Roger settles into a chair at the table beside John after closing the door behind him.

John nods, still not really in a mood to talk, but knowing Roger won’t leave him alone until he does.

Sure enough: “So what happened?”

“Accused the wife of cheating on me and implied that I’m not truly a father if the children aren’t biologically mine.” John is blunt, not wanting to spend more time rehashing that conversation if he can help it.

“Damn.” Roger lets out a low whistle. “Can’t say as I blame you for walking out, then. What a vile thing to say.” He examines the half-empty bottle of scotch on the table. “D’you mind?”

John shakes his head and indicates that Roger can pour himself a glass. Honestly, better that he drink some so that John doesn’t finish the whole bottle and pickle his liver more than he already is. There’s a moment of silence as Roger does so, neither of them having much to say, before John speaks up again. “Why do they think that’s okay?”

“Hmm?”

“To say things like that. All I said was that I had three children, and he immediately turned it into a joke about how much sex I must be having.”

Roger’s face brightens. “Three? The paperwork finally went through? Congratulations!”

John nods, smiling slightly in spite of himself. “Harvey Nathaniel Deacon; our newest addition. Just found out last night.”

“That’s fantastic! I’m so happy to hear that; I know you’ve waited long enough for this one.” Roger claps a hand on John’s shoulder and raises his glass in salute. “To your family, and to my new nephew who I’ve got to start spoiling rotten when we get home.” He grins again.

John does the same, glad to be drinking for a happy cause, if only for a moment. There’s another moment of silence before Roger replies, looking at John pensively. “Honestly though, I have no idea. ‘Boys will be boys’, or some such thing, I suppose. It’s not called for, but everyone just rather seems to expect it to happen. Women’s achievements are sidelined to talk about their families, and men talk about how good they are in the sack.” He shrugs. “It’s not a good thing, but I don’t know that it’ll change any time soon.”

“Well, it shouldn’t happen.” John’s frowning again. “It had nothing to do with the band; with the tour. Even if I _was_ having sex, I wouldn’t want to be discussing it on an interview that’d be broadcast for the country to see. My life at home isn’t like my life in the band; I’ve accepted that band life is available to the public, but my life at home is mine and no one else’s.” He finishes his statement with another swig of his drink.

“Slow down a bit, please?” Roger cautions, unfazed by John’s raised eyebrows at that statement. “I know, I’m hardly the one to lecture about bad habits and going to excess, but you’ll regret it later if you keep drinking like that, at least for today. I don’t want to be the one to tell your wife that you got alcohol poisoning two weeks before you were due to come home.”

“Fine.” John’s still in a dour mood, but he’ll slow down a bit for the sake of his family. Then he sighs, all the anger seeming to drain out of him in one fell swoop. “…how could he, Rog? Even if jokes about how good people are in bed is ‘normal’, how could he possibly think it was alright to imply that I’m not a real father?” He’s staring at his drink again miserably while Roger watches, letting John ramble and get this out of his system. “It’s not my fault that we can’t have them of our own. It’s not her fault either; but somehow that makes us less, or not ‘really’ parents?”

He looks up, eyes suspiciously bright, and Roger knows that seeing John at this moment is a rare thing; seeing him so vulnerable, and knows he has to approach this the right way. He’s sometimes likened John to the hedgehogs Brian loves to go on about; a prickly protective exterior hiding a soft underbelly. Not that John’s difficult to get along with, but it’s hard to get him to open up sometimes - he’s far more likely to curl up in a metaphorical ball and let his spikes protect him from the world. To see him opening up like this is a huge indication of trust (as well as a huge indication of drink lowering his walls), and Roger needs to be very careful about what he says next. Which is why he decides to open up slightly too: “Have I ever told you about my dad?”

John frowns in puzzlement this time. “No, but I know you don’t get along. Why?”

“He’s a right bastard, is what he is.” Roger takes a swig of his own drink now; he’s only ever spoken about this a few times before, and it’s not a subject he likes to bring up. “We argued a lot, growing up. He had ideas about what I should do with my life, and I didn’t agree. And I’m sure you’re thinking, how is this different from any other kid arguing with their parents?”

John nods slightly, but says nothing, waiting for Roger to continue.

“He didn’t want Clare. I was the son who was always misbehaving and was never going to be what he wanted, so he thought he had a second chance with her. A chance for a ’good son’. Imagine his anger when it turned out he’d gotten a daughter.” Roger laughs humourlessly. “That’s when things got bad.”

“But aren’t you and Clare only two years apart? How’d you know all this?” John’s confused.

“Found out from my mum years later. She protected us for years, tried to shelter us. She thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did. We never said anything ‘cos we didn’t want to make it worse, but I was a bit of a shit as a teenager and started arguing with him all the time.”

“You’re a bit of a shit _now_ ,” John mutters, to which Roger smirks and continues.

“At first it was small things; a rap on the knuckles here, a smack on the bottom if I’d misbehaved. Nothing unusual. Then it escalated.” Roger takes a deep breath and another drink. “I’d be going to school with bruises, and trying to hide them; he was usually very careful to not leave them in places that couldn’t be seen, but sometimes they were visible. No one ever asked about them, though. No one wanted to get involved. I was terrified about moving out for uni, because I didn’t know what he’d do to Mum and Clare while I wasn’t there. But he never laid a hand on her, and it’s the only thing I’m grateful to him for. We haven’t spoken in years, and I’m happy to keep it that way.”

John’s just staring in shock and horror. “God, Rog. I knew it wasn’t good, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Yeah, well.” The drummer shrugs and takes another drink, trying to play it off. “I never brought it up, and didn’t feel like being pitied. But now you know, and I’m sure it goes without saying, but I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention it.”

“Of course.” John nods. “I’m sorry to hear that, though.”

“Thanks. It is what it is, though - can’t change the past.” Roger shrugs again before giving John a lopsided grin. “And anyway, bonding over awful parents is how your wife and I became friends, which is how she met the rest of us and ultimately you, so I’m glad something good’s come out of my shitty childhood. Anyway! We’re wandering. I did have a point to telling you all this.”

“Oh?” John’s confused now. He’a not sure if it’s the alcohol dulling things slightly, or if Roger just hasn’t been clear, but he can’t seem to follow how this all relates to him.

“My point is, my dad is my biological father and he’s a total prick.” Roger leans in closer and puts a hand on John’s shoulder. “Parenting isn’t determined by blood, John. You love your children, you don’t need to genetically be related to them to do that. Far as I’m concerned, you’re a much better father than my dad ever was. Make of that what you will, but I think you ought to know that.”

He finishes his drink and stands up, stretching his back. “Anyway. I’ll let you get back to your business, and I’ll go tell Bri, Freddie, and management that they can piss off and we won’t be doing any more publicity with that network. Not after those statements.” He affects a posh accent and speaks imperiously: “They’ve insulted the parentage of the princes and princess of the royal family, don’t you know! Off with their heads!”

He winks exaggeratedly, and John can’t help but giggle at that terrible joke. Once he’s composed himself again, he meets the blond’s eyes. “Thanks, Rog.”

“Anytime, Deaks. Now, I’m off to see a man about a beheading!” Roger gives him a warm smile, before he claps his hands together gleefully and bounds out of the room, barely remembering to close the door after him.

John stares at the door for a moment after Roger leaves, just thinking about what he’d said. He finishes his drink but doesn’t pour himself another, deciding he doesn’t need to numb himself anymore. As a matter of fact… he contemplates the half empty bottle of scotch still sitting on the table in front of him. John will be the first to admit he drinks more than is reasonably healthy to cope with the stress that touring and the band puts on him, but maybe he needs to be more careful from now on. He’s got a literal baby at home now; it wouldn’t do to drink himself into an early grave (or a near-constant stupor, at least).

John stashes the alcohol away somewhere, and resolves to give it to Roger or Ratty or someone else instead later on to keep it away from him. He’s got two weeks til he goes home, then he can be with his family again. He can slow down on the drinking for that long at least.

Over the coming weeks, he keeps reminding himself that that bastard of an interviewer is wrong - his family is just as valid as anyone else’s, regardless of whether he’s his children’s blood relative or not. Some days are harder than others, but Roger keeps building him up, or distracting him from getting too caught up in his thoughts, until finally it’s time to go home.

And when they do, there’s no measuring the sheer amount of joy and contentment he feels when he sees his family all waiting for him at the airport. Hearing the excited chanting of “Daddy!” from Emma and Stevie as they rush over to hug him, and the way Harvey is snuggled up happily dozing in a stroller that his wife is pushing, is enough to fully drive the point home for him - regardless of parentage, these are their children, and nothing will ever change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	10. Friends Will Be Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [Summertime_Poet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summertime_Poet/pseuds/Summertime_Poet). Prompt: The resolution for that broken toaster that’s showed up in every single 90s fic so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: _“Prélude à l'après-midi d'un toaster”_
> 
> Seriously, this thing has been an [Easter egg](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978561/chapters/42532328) in [every other fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978561/chapters/42974195) I’ve written that [mentions the 90s](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978561/chapters/43648187). It was just meant to be a joke at first, but I was requested to write some resolution for the poor thing, and here we are now. I never thought I’d be writing a fic about a toaster, BUT OH WELL XD
> 
> Enjoy!

You’re waking up late in the day, enjoying a day off, and you’re alone in the room. You hear noises from downstairs, and realize that John’s probably fixing something around the house. He hasn’t picked up his bass in weeks, not even after finding out Freddie has woken up and will recover. You wish he’d play something again, or go visit Freddie, but he hasn’t mustered up the courage to do either of those things yet, so he tinkers. As a result, everything around the house is in perfect working order… except one.

John’s been struggling with the toaster for months now, never seeming to be able to make it cooperate. It’s been a bit of a blight on the household’s sense of efficiency, and neither of you know why he can’t seem to make it work. It had somehow stopped working the exact day of Freddie’s accident, and while you were content to say it was a bad omen and just toss the damned thing, John was insistent on fixing it. You suspect that it had a lot to do with the fact that John felt the urge to have something within his control, something he could fix out of this whole situation.

Alas, it never seemed to work; either he meant to get around to it and forgot, or was in an unfit emotional state to be able to focus on much of anything (much less the inner mechanics of an old toaster), or was too busy with other commitments to the band. Even now that Freddie is slowly on the mend, John still can’t seem to make it work (you’d originally theorized that he couldn’t fix it because he was too concerned about Freddie potentially not waking up, but clearly your theory has held no water).

Pulling some clothes on, you go downstairs to see him, knowing that he’s likely been too wrapped up in this to eat something. As you enter the dining room, you can see that John has bits and pieces strewn around the table, and you can’t help but giggle slightly when you hear John stifle a curse as he jabs himself accidentally.

He looks up, frustrated, but his gaze softens at the sight of you watching him fondly. “Morning, love. Sleep well?”

“For the most part.” You nod, then indicate at the mechanical mess that is the table. “Decided to have another go at the toaster, I see?”

“Yeah… I still can’t seem to get it working, though.” John frowns and scratches at the back of his neck. “It makes no sense.”

“Maybe now you’ll consider just tossing the thing, like I suggested?” you joke, approaching the table and examining a loose part. “It’s not like we can’t afford another. Or several, for that matter.”

“I know we could.” John sighs, clearly frustrated by this whole affair. “But I’m sure I can get this working. It’s a matter of principle at this point.” He grins wryly. “I can’t let some old appliance get the better of me. Especially when I can’t find a single reason for it to not be working. Nothing is obviously wrong with it.”

“That’s strange.” You’re frowning too at this point. “I’m sure you’ll find out what it is, though. After all, I did marry a self-proclaimed electronics genius.” You smirk, wiggling your eyebrows to punctuate your point.

John rolls his eyes at the mention of that old interview of his, but points the screwdriver he’s holding in your direction. “I stand by that title. Has it steered us wrong yet?”

You pretend to think about it, to which he actually pokes at your arm gently with the screwdriver and pretends to look offended. “Hey!”

You laugh again, glad to see John in much better spirits than he has been for a while. During the months when Freddie was in his coma and there was no word of improvement, John had sunk into a bit of a depression. Not enough to incapacitate him or drive him back to his old drinking habits (and you thank God that that hasn’t made a reoccurrence), but enough that you could tell he was just going through the motions. Existing, but not really living.

You’re not sure if it was a combination of not knowing whether Freddie would survive, the fact that things were left on a bad note between the two of them before his accident, the stress of fielding band-related business during this time as though nothing was wrong, or a combination of everything, but you could see that John was slowly fading away, and it broke your heart that there was nothing you could seem to do to stop it.

So now, to see him seriously working on a project again of his own volition (even if it is just busywork), joking and smiling like old times, it makes you more happy than you can express to see him slowly coming back to life. You still want him to come with you sometime to see Freddie, but John’s still been a bit reluctant, and you know he’ll come around on his own time. In the meantime, you’ll take what you can get, and savour every moment. Speaking of savour…

“If you’re quite done jabbing at me, I assume you haven’t eaten yet?” you say in mock exasperation, but there’s no bite to your words. At his shake of the head, you continue: “I’ll make us some breakfast then. You need to eat something.” John’s still poking at your arm that’s resting on the table with the screwdriver a bit more while you speak, though, and you’re wondering just how how sleep-deprived he might be. “…what are you doing, you ridiculous man?”

John lifts his gaze up to yours with an insufferably cheeky grin. “What does it look like? I’m screwing you on the dining room table.”

“Good God.” You pull your arm away and put your head in your hands with a groan. “Just how long have you been waiting to make that joke?”

“Long enough.” John snickers, but retracts his hand and puts the tool down. “Sorry; couldn’t resist.”

“You’re not sorry at all,” you retort as you stand up and press a kiss to his temple before heading into the kitchen to make some breakfast. “You’re absolutely incorrigible.”

“True, but you still chose to marry me!” John calls back.

You heave a long dramatic sigh and hear the sound of him snickering some more at your reaction and his own terrible joke as he’s tidying up the mess of parts, but secretly you’re so happy to see John acting more like his old self. This must be a sign that things are getting better.

——

Time passes, and eventually John does make his way to the hospital to see Freddie. He’d done so on his own, saying this was something he needed to do by himself, but you’re just so pleased in general that John’s finally gotten to this point. He doesn’t tell you what they talked about, but you’re sure it has something to do with John finally getting a chance to talk about their argument, given the way that John comes home looking a lot less tense than when he left.

Meanwhile, he still can’t seem to get that awful appliance working, and you almost wish you could just throw the thing away when he’s not home. But, you know he’d notice it, and you can’t bring yourself to do that to him. When John’s set on working on something, there’s no stopping him.

It’s become a bit of a running joke for the rest of the band. Roger asks about it every time you see him: “still haven’t fixed it yet, eh?” Brian gives knowing looks in the direction of the table when you have them over for band business or dinner, where it’s still sitting disassembled. Freddie even makes jokes from his hospital bed: “attempting to nurse it back to mechanical health, Deaky?” Even Roger’s kids are in on this, asking about it the next time you see them too (and even though you know they’re only doing it because Roger put them up to it, it’s still amusing).

Brian jokingly suggests that they put on a benefit concert for the toaster, to which Roger and Freddie start immediately making plans about as though this is a serious thing. John just rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, but lets them have their fun. You suspect he’s secretly enjoying the bantering, even if it is (partially) at his expense; it’s a partial return to a sorely-missed normalcy.

——

One day Roger pulls you aside while John is off doing something band-related, and tells you that they need to borrow the toaster. You’re incredibly confused; why would he (or any of the others) want that broken thing? Thankfully, John’s mostly put it back together recently; there’s just one open panel exposing the internal workings. You offer to put it back on for Roger, but he declines and says it’s just fine the way it is. You hand him the appliance and ask why he wants the toaster, to which Roger just mimes doing up a zipper on his lips, and leaves with a sly grin.

He returns it an hour or two later, looking no different than when you gave it to him, and thanks you for its use. You have no clue what he means, but Roger just winks, assures you that you’ll find out in due time, and tells you not to tell John that they borrowed the toaster. You’re just getting more and more confused, but agree not to tell John.

A few days after that strange incident, Brian approaches you to ask if you’ll do him a favour. You ask him what it is, and it turns out that he wants you to play something on the piano for him in the studio. You frown a little at that in confusion. “Don’t you play some piano, Bri? Surely you don’t need me for this.”

“Yes, well.” He’s rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “We’re trying to do something in particular, and I think you’ll have a better feel for it than I would.”

You ask what they’re trying to do, but Brian doesn’t elaborate very much. You shrug and figure what’s the harm? Even if they’re more tight-lipped about it, you’re sure this is all on the level. But then things get a bit suspicious when Brian asks you specifically to come in on a day when John’s off visiting Freddie for a few hours, and asks you not to tell him that you’re doing this.

“Are you doing something for John?” You’re a bit concerned now by the secrecy. Then a thought occurs to you: “does this have anything to do with the fact that Rog borrowed the toaster?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Brian says solemnly. “But you can’t tell Deaky, please?”

“Oh, alright. But this is all very strange, Bri - I hope you know that.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m well aware of that.” Brian grimaces slightly. “But your assistance is appreciated.”

You’re not told much when you get to the studio, either - just given some basic music sheets to read off of, and a rough idea of the sound they’re going for. You do your best to play what they want (you’re not nearly as in practice as you used to be), and while you’re not entirely satisfied with the end result, Brian and Roger assure you that it sounds wonderful. They remind you once again to not say a word to John; they swear everything is on the level, but he’s not to know about this.

With this in mind, you’re almost expecting something odd from Freddie, even though he’s just come home from the hospital and is still recovering. But nothing happens, and you put this whole strange week behind you.

——

Months pass, and you’ve almost forgotten about these odd incidents. You never mentioned anything, and John’s never asked about them. Freddie’s at home again (albeit still unable to stand/walk for long periods without getting winded), and things are almost back to normal. The band tosses around ideas for another album, but no one’s in any rush to release anything, not after Freddie’s scare. The man himself is enthusiastic about putting something else out and getting back into the studio after his long sojourn in the hospital, but everyone is insistent on him taking it slow and not pushing himself too far too fast.

Meanwhile on the home front, John’s still insistent on trying to fix the toaster but he still can’t find out what’s wrong with it. You’re almost a bit concerned, as this has become less of a stress relief and more of an obsession to find a fault that just can’t be fixed. John is insistent that he’s confident in his ability to repair this, though, so you don’t push too hard, but make sure he doesn’t get too caught up in this project to eat and sleep at regular times (some things never change).

Then one spring afternoon, you’re home doing some work around the house when you get an unexpected phone call. It’s Roger, asking you to come meet them at the studio, where the band has been doing some work on the new album. At first, you’re concerned: “Is something wrong, Rog? 95% of the times I get surprised by you on the phone, it’s because you’re telling me something has happened.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that!” he assures you. “We just need you to come on by so you can be here when we give something to Deaky. Make sure you bring your camera.”

You try to get more information, but Roger won’t say another word on the matter and again just urges you to come by as soon as you can, camera in tow.

When you arrive at the studio, they appear to be recording some rhythm tracks, as Roger and John are in the booth playing, and Brian and Freddie are waiting outside, chatting (well, Freddie appears to be arguing that he wants a cigarette, and Brian is adamantly refusing). Their faces light up when they see you approach. “Darling, you made it!” Freddie grins. “Did you bring a camera?”

“Yes, of course. Rog said it was imperative that I bring one along.” You indicate the bag on your shoulder. “So what’s going on then?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Brian answers cryptically before turning to Freddie. “I think we can do it once they wrap up this track, Fred?” At the singer’s nod, Brian grins too and turns back to you. “You’ll enjoy this, I know it.”

You’re so incredibly confused, and now a bit impatient to see what’s going to happen when the recording stops. It feels like it takes forever but when they do finish, John immediately approaches you and gives you a kiss on your forehead before furrowing his brow in confusion. “Hello, my love. What brings you here today?”

“I was asked to come here. Rog rang and said I should come meet you down here for something.” You shrug and look toward the others for more explanation, only to find they’ve all disappeared. “Wait. Where did they go?”

Now you’re both confused and just standing around awkwardly, when Roger, Brian, and Freddie all return, each wearing t-shirts that reference your toaster in some way: Freddie has one that says _“I ❤️ toaster”_ , Brian’s says _“got toaster?”_ , and Roger’s is the most ridiculous, showing a clock face with all time markers replaced with the words **toaster repair** , captioned _“would you look at the time”_.

You’re trying to stifle your laughter at the shirts, and John just looks incredulous. “Really? Are those the shirts you joked about last year, Rog? You really did this?”

“Indeed they are, Deaky!” Roger has a cheeky grin. “I stand behind this worthy cause. Now, don’t be jealous - we got you two your own shirts too!”

On his cue, Brian and Freddie hand you each a bundled up shirt. You unfold them to reveal that they’re matching shirts, and read the words _Toaster Revival Benefit ‘93_ with a photo of the toaster underneath, missing panel and all.

“…oh my God.” John’s just staring at his shirt (meanwhile you waste no time pulling yours on over top of your current shirt). “You actually made benefit shirts. Is this really how you spent your time over the last year?” He’s trying to sound aggravated, but you can hear the amusement poking through in his voice.

“No better way to spend my time, or ours, really!” Roger continues gleefully. “The shirts were Freddie’s idea. Now go on and put it on! We’ve got something else for you.”

“Something else?” John raises his eyebrows, even as he pulls the shirt on over his own current one to appease Roger. “What more could you possibly have?”

Just then, music cues from the sound system. It’s an unfamiliar song, but catchy. Something sounds familiar about the instrumentation, though… You’re nodding along to the beat, when the vocals come in and you’re taken aback before you start laughing uncontrollably.

The lyrics are all about the toaster, and each band member features on their own verse extolling various virtues and flaws of the appliance, framing it like a sad love story. Then the solo comes in, and you recognize that piano part playing in duet with the guitar. “Is that my piano playing?” You’re cracking up even more now, and everything from all those months ago is making a lot more sense.

Just like that, John’s head turns to you in surprise, even as he too is trying to hold back his mirth about the utter ridiculousness of the song. “You what? When were you in the studio? How didn’t I know about this?”

You start to explain, but Roger shushes you both and insists that you let the song finish without disruption. You make sure to get a photo or two of John and the others when you can while the song plays; this is the most laughter and amusement that you’ve seen from them all since before Freddie’s accident. You want to commemorate this moment, even if it is over something as ridiculous as the old broken toaster.

As the song winds down, Brian and Roger leave the room and come back with two giftwrapped items. “It’s not even Christmas, Bri. To what do we owe the pleasure?” you joke, even as John tears into the smaller one first at Roger’s request. It turns out to be a CD copy of the toaster song, complete with album artwork (the same photo that’s on your shirts) and B-side track of candid studio audio footage and outtakes. You blush a little at that one, knowing that means John will hear you turning the air blue with all the cursing you did when you were in.

Then they all urge John to open the larger present, and Roger gestures at you to get the camera ready. Sure enough, the look on John’s face when the larger box is revealed to be none other than a brand new toaster is priceless, and you thank God for Roger’s foresight as you snap a couple of good photos.

That turns out to be the straw that breaks the metaphorical camel’s back, and now John is laughing just as hard as everyone else. “I suppose this means you’re trying to tell me something,” he chuckles as he wipes tears of mirth from his eyes. “Maybe it is time I let that old thing go.”

“Yes!” the other three chorus, you just giggling off to the side.

“Honestly, Deaky - I haven’t seen it as much as the others, but I’ve definitely heard enough about it over the past while,” Freddie speaks up from where he’s sat himself down on the arm of a sofa to have a bit of a rest. “It’s so tied to the accident and all those dreadful memories; I think it’s time to lay it to rest.”

“Freddie’s right. You’ve been so attached to it since the event, that it’s time to move on. Find something else to fix,” Brian jokes.

“What they said,” Roger agrees, nodding and pointing at the others. They roll their eyes at him for not adding anything of his own, but soon everyone is laughing and joking some more, and at one point you can see Roger pointing out the features of the new toaster to John. John’s rolling his eyes at Roger attempting to sell him on it: “I already said I was getting rid of the old one, Rog. You don’t need to convince me to keep this one.”

Everyone is in better spirits than they’ve been in a long time, and it makes your heart ache with happiness to see them like this. If you’d been quite honest, you’d seen the beginnings of cracks forming in Queen’s shell immediately after Freddie’s accident.

You’d seen Brian retreating into himself in his own way but still trying to soldier on, Roger trying his best to support Brian but caught up in his own grief, and John completely shutting down, none of them fully alright without Freddie helping to hold them together. Your words to John from all those years ago had come back to you: _“you might have married me, but you need the band just as much”_. It wasn’t the same without all four of them present to support each other, as you had witnessed firsthand.

So now to see them together again, united over this ridiculous months-long project about a broken kitchen appliance is like a breath of fresh air. Nothing will truly erase the pain and grief those 6 months when Freddie’s life hung in that precarious balance caused, but this is definitely a start to moving past that and getting on with all of your lives.

This point is proven beyond a doubt when you get home from the studio later on and John doesn’t even hesitate before he puts the broken toaster out into the garbage, finally letting it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


	11. Easy as ABC, 123

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [Reading_By_Torchlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reading_By_Torchlight). Prompt: A date night with John to go see the Jackson Five in concert.

“You almost ready to go?” John pokes his head around the bedroom doorframe. “We need to leave soon if we want to be on time.”

“Yes, just about!” You quickly finish trying to drag a hairbrush through your hair, wincing at the few snarls you hit, and grab your jacket off the bed as you head over to join John to head out to the car. “Sorry about that; took me forever to find my own clothes earlier because _someone’s_ shirts were all mixed up in my drawer for some reason.” John goes a bit red at that as you continue, snickering: “And while I’m not opposed to your taste in fashion, none of your shirts will fit me as you’re clearly not in possession of a chest. So I had to keep looking for my own. Got the tickets, by the way?”

John’s going even more red now as you both get in the car, but recovers relatively quickly. “Yes, I’ve got them here.” He pats his jacket pocket and continues, teasing as he starts the car: “This is why you need to move in with me already. Then you’d have more space for your clothes, and we wouldn’t have to be splitting them between both of our flats. I almost tore my flat apart looking for one of my shirts before I remembered that I’d left it at yours.”

“Oh, I know,” you agree, nodding. “I’ve still got 4 months ‘til the lease is up, though. Then I’m free and clear to do as I please without getting slapped with a fee for defaulting. We’ll see if you’re still putting up with me in March, then you can rethink your decision about having me move in,” you joke.

“I’m not just putting up with you,” John says, frowning slightly and looking over as much as possible while still keeping an eye on the road. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do.” You smile over at him, but it wavers slightly. “Sorry, was meant to be a bit of a joke, but it wasn’t a very good one.”

“It’s alright.” John reaches over and takes your hand gently at a red light. “I know what you meant. Besides,” he continues as the light changes and he has to take his hand back to drive, “if anything, you’re putting up with all the band business all the time. We’d probably have been able to go out like this sooner if it wasn’t for the rehearsals and performances.”

“Oh, I know. And then there’s the rehearsals on top of rehearsals,” you joke. “Freddie’s an utter perfectionist, and wants everyone to sound just as good. It’s alright, though.” You reach over and gently squeeze his leg. “I knew what I was getting into when we started seeing each other, and honestly I don’t mind so much that we’re not able to go out on proper dates as often. I’m just happy to see you at all, even if I have to share you with the band.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you.” John smiles as he pulls into the lot where you’re leaving the car for the evening. “But I know I rather enjoy our evenings alone. No Roger telling bad jokes. No Brian lecturing about some irresponsible thing or another. No Freddie mother-henning.” He takes your arm after you exit the car, beginning the walk over to the doors of the Palladium. “Just you and I, and an evening to ourselves.”

“Well, you and I, and several hundred others at least,” you chuckle, looking at the people in a queue waiting for the doors to open. “I still can’t believe you managed to get tickets to see the Jackson 5.”

“I have my ways,” John says, grinning as he leans over to gently kiss your forehead. “Thought it might be a bit of fun, anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be.” You’re grinning right back at John as the queue moves and you wait your turn to get inside to find your seats.

——

Seeing the group perform is like nothing you could have imagined. Hearing them on the radio and on records is one thing, but seeing all that energy and that choreography on stage is another altogether. You’re bobbing and swaying to the music, attention solely on the band, but you do glance over at John occasionally, who looks as though he’s having just as much fun as you are. He’s got a bright grin on his face, moving his mouth along with the lyrics as he’s watching the Jacksons dance and sing on stage.

Sooner than you can believe, the concert is over and you’re navigating the crowds to go home. The air is a bit chilly as you’re walking back to where John’s parked the car, so John puts his arm around your shoulders to hold you closer and share a bit of body heat while you walk. The car takes a few minutes to heat up when you arrive and get it started, but soon it’s warmed up enough and the heat is making you sleepy on the drive home.

You attempt to hide a yawn, but it doesn’t work and John just smiles over at you when he’s stopped at the next traffic light. “Been a long night then?” he teases gently. “We’ll get you to bed soon enough, love.”

“Oh shush, you,” you reply back, yawning again. “Besides, you’re not much better off.”

Sure enough, John’s trying to hold it in but soon has to give in and let out a yawn himself. “Not a word,” he warns as he pulls up to your flat.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You’re smirking now.

Getting into the flat and ready for bed is a quiet affair, both of you trying (and failing badly) to hold in more yawns, and teasing each other every time one happens.

“Thank you for a wonderful night out,” you whisper after you’ve both settled down in bed, even as you’re both quickly falling asleep. “Just because I don’t mind sharing you most of the time, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy our time alone. If anything, it makes me appreciate it all the more.”

John says nothing, but you can hear a small noise of contentment and feel him shift to try to be closer to you in response as you drift off to sleep, and you know he’s heard you.


	12. Can't Win With Your Hands Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [deHavilland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deHavilland). Prompt: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

His wife doesn’t think he visits Freddie.

To be fair, he’s never told her that he does; only declining her offers to come along to the hospital when she visits, and she assumes he doesn’t visit otherwise. But the truth is that he can’t bear to go see him, not while she’s there. John knows that if they go together, he’ll likely break down and while he’s not normally ashamed to cry in front of his wife, this is too personal for him.

So he goes alone. He doesn’t visit often, and only schedules his visits for days and times that he knows none of the others will be there. John knows that the others think him in equal turns heartless and fragile, but right now their opinions are the least of his concerns.

Most often he sits there in silence. “Coma patients can hear you if you talk to them,” the nurse on duty had offered helpfully the first time John had visited, to which he had nodded in acknowledgment and proceeded to not say a word for the duration of his visit. He doesn’t know what he would say if he were to try speaking to Freddie anyway.

The films and television shows make it look so natural; the person visiting sits around and reads a book, or talks about things going on in their life, or gives some impassioned speech about how they need their loved one to wake up because they can’t go on without them. It’s all bullshit, John thinks.

The films and television shows don’t tell you a lot of things about this situation. They don’t tell you that your will to read anything drains away when you’re faced with the reality that your loved one might never read again. They make it seem like talking about things going on in everyday life is all well and good… until you realize that your life has come to a screeching halt because a great deal of your life has centred around this person and your equilibrium is off. And passionate speeches? Pah. What’s the use of being over-dramatic when it won’t change a thing?

For a moment, John smiles weakly at that image; the thought of him tragically draping himself over Freddie’s unnaturally still body in the hospital bed and pleading with him while some paparazzi goes in for a stunning insider photo. Then John sobers because that kind of ridiculous behaviour makes him think back to their early days as a band when they were all young and overdramatic each in their own ways and the world was at their feet.

Before he can help it, tears are falling from his eyes as he sits in his usual seat beside the bed. Nothing has changed in Freddie’s condition, and everything in his life is slowly cracking and falling apart, it seems. His marriage is solid, but John knows this turn of events has still put a strain on them; Freddie’s her good friend too. Queen is in an odd state of limbo; no one really knowing what to do with themselves, but no one wanting to be the one to make the final call to end the band.

Even his home life has deteriorated, as he’s not sleeping well, the cat won’t come near him, and he can’t even manage to make simple repairs to things around the house that need fixing. His wife begs him to stop obsessing over things that can’t be fixed, to talk to a professional about the stress he’s going through, but John’s really not too sure what more a doctor could tell him that he doesn’t know already.

Besides, John knows the underlying root to his guilt, as it’s all stemming from the argument he and Freddie had had a few days before the accident. The ugly, hurtful words he’d said in a fit of anger that John now wishes he could take back. But it’s too late now, and all he’s left with is the memory of that final interaction with Freddie before he was laid out here, with no guarantee if or when he’ll ever wake up again.

Tears are welling up again, and John tries vainly to make them stop, if only because he has to leave soon if he wants to be back home before his wife returns from work. He doesn’t entirely know why he wants to keep this so secretive; from her and from everyone, but he knows that being judged silently from afar is more preferable to him than being smothered with sympathy.

Brian and Roger have both tried to reach out several times; John’s rebuffed them every time, unable to face them aside from mandatory band business affairs without being reminded of everything he’s lost. A small niggling voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s not the only one who’s lost someone dear to them and this isn’t fair to the others to shut them out, but John can’t let his steadily cracking armour be breached anymore.

He knows Brian’s likely not eating (much, or at all), given the way his clothes hang off him loosely. He knows Roger isn’t sleeping well, as he’s seen how bleary-eyed the drummer is (he wears sunglasses to hide them, but John’s learned how to tell). He knows his wife is throwing herself into extra work at the museum to distract herself.

And yet, John can’t find it in him to allow himself that support for their shared agony. He knows that the moment he opens himself up, he won’t be able to function because this will finally be real. Admitting his pain out loud will put the final nail in Queen’s coffin, and as much as John’s said he wanted to slow down and enjoy a normal life, this wasn’t how he wanted to achieve this at all.

So he sits there in silence beside Freddie’s bed once again, not apologizing for his part in the argument (because an apology to a coma patient is accepting the inevitable), not justifying his actions (because deep down he doesn’t think he fully can), and not going on about mundane topics (because he’s not in denial).

He goes into the loo and cleans up his face from the tears he’s shed during his visit and tries to make sure he looks as composed as possible for when he goes home, before he goes back out to Freddie’s bedside and briefly takes the older man’s hand in his own and gives it a gentle squeeze.

As he leaves the hospital, John’s not sure how long he can keep this up, but he’ll try to hold out as much as he can.


	13. My Gift is My Song (and this one's for you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [Summertime_Poet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summertime_Poet/pseuds/Summertime_Poet). Prompt: Something soft and feels-punching, featuring “Your Song”, by Elton John.

John wants this tour to be over. Even though it hasn’t been a long one, it’s been draining and stressful. He’s never liked touring at the best of times; being away from home and his wife for long stretches at a time makes him melancholy at best, and short-tempered at worst. He knows he’s snapped at more than a few unlucky stage techs without warning, and he doesn’t like what the stress is doing to him.

Touring, managing the band’s finances, dealing with the others all the time… enough is enough. He knows he drinks more than is healthy, and while he knows this isn’t a proper coping method, he’s running out of answers for what to do. He even came dangerously close to just pulling a Townshend and doing something destructive with his guitar onstage tonight, and the thought of him being in that kind of elevated emotional state to do such a thing scares John. While he doesn’t place the same kind of reverent value on his equipment the way Brian does with the Red Special, he hates to see electronic gear needlessly ruined.

He’s not entirely certain how he made it home after the concert, forgoing the celebratory party afterwards in favour of just needing some space. But somehow in his slight emotional daze he’s managed to make it back to the house in one piece, and despite how drained he feels he can’t stop a smile as he looks at the exterior. It’s simple, yet nice - he’s not one to go for buying a large mansion the way Roger has - and even though it may look plain, it’s a symbol to him of how far they’ve come. From struggling university students sharing a cramped flat to actual homeowners, John sometimes still can’t believe that this is his, even after all these years.

He shakes himself out of his reverie and walks to the house, letting himself inside and dropping his things off in the front entryway. He can hear the sounds of piano music from another room in the house, and wonders if his wife is listening to a record.

As he follows the sound of the music, he can identify the song as an old Elton John one, but it’s not coming from a record - his wife herself is sitting at the piano in the music room and playing it. She’s humming along as she plays slowly, muttering a bit on occasion when there’s a misstep in the notes, and it’s the most beautiful thing John has ever heard.

She doesn’t play often; she’d taken lessons as a child, same as a lot of people, but hadn’t really kept it up except to play for fun on occasion. John knows she mostly plays when no one else can hear her, and he always considers himself fortunate whenever he catches glimpses of these moments. She’s playing through Your Song at the moment, a favourite of theirs, and even though John’s enjoyed the song for a while, tonight it’s particularly soothing to his frayed emotions from the tour.

He leans against the doorway for a few minutes and just listens, letting the music wash over him. Then he decides he needs to be closer and crosses the room to join his wife. She stops playing and looks up at his approach, smiling warmly. “I didn’t hear you come in! Oh, I’m so glad to see you.”

She stands up and wraps her arms around him tightly, and John does the same, needing that closeness right now. “Missed you so much, love,” he murmurs into where his head is tucked into the crook of her neck. 

“I missed you too; it’s never the same when you’re away.” She holds him tighter for a moment before loosening her hold and stepping back slightly to look him in the eyes. “But you’re here now. Sorry you had come back to hear my playing, though,” she jokes. “That’s not much of a greeting.”

“I actually rather liked it,” John replies, smiling. “Play it again for me?”

“You sure? It’s rather late.” She sounds cautious, and John knows this is partly because she knows what his moods have been like lately, and partly due to her own self-consciousness about playing in front of others.

“I’m sure.” John moves to sit on the piano bench beside her and gently tugs her down to sit beside him. “I haven’t heard that song in a long time, and it sounded lovely to hear you play it.”

“Alright, if you insist.” She shakes her head slightly and John just smiles again as he hears her start Your Song from the beginning over again, humming the melody as she plays piano accompaniment for herself. She’s clearly been practicing this song a bit more while he’s been away, and it sounds all the better for it. 

It doesn’t take much before John’s getting caught up in the nostalgia of the song again, remembering back before everything got so busy and complicated. When the only stresses they had were studying for exams and making sure the heating bill was paid on time. It wasn’t always easy, but it was definitely a sight less taxing than all these incessant tours and recording. Sometimes John feels as though he really truly hasn’t had proper time to himself since 1972.

He leans in and lays his head on his wife’s shoulder as she plays, feeling the vibrations of her humming and the movements of her arms as she plays. To her credit, she only falters slightly at the new weight on her shoulder and now-limited range of movement but continues to play as though nothing has changed.

At one point, she even turns her head slightly as she continues to play from memory, and presses a kiss to the crown of his head. Her face ends up slightly buried in the poof of curls still there, but she still hums the song even as she continues to lean her head on his. 

The song finishes, and John’s sad to hear it end, but on the other hand he’s never felt more loved and content than in this moment, and he continues to rest on his wife’s shoulder. She takes her hands off the piano and turns now to pull him into a warm hug, and this is exactly what John needed after this hellish tour.

He’s not sure if this will be the end of touring for Queen, but he knows all of them have needed a break for a while, so if it means he gets to spend more time at home like this, he won’t complain. Either way, he’s happy to just enjoy this moment, being held and feeling safe. Maybe with time things will be better, or maybe they won’t - but for now, he’s content.


End file.
